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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/tecumsehOOcolt 



TT^CUMSEH; 



OR, 



THE WEST THIRTY YEARS SINCE. 



A POEM 



BY GEORGE H. COLTON. 



' All kinds, all creatures stand or fall 
By strength of prowess or of wit : 
'Tis God's appointment, who shall sway^ 
And who is to submit.— 
Say, then, that he was wise as brave) 
As \vise in thought as bold in deed ; 
For in the principles of things 
He sought his moral creed. 
And thou, although with some wild thoughts 
Wild chieftain of a savage clan ! 
Hadst this to boast, that thou didst love 
The liberty of man," 

WoEDSWORTH. 



N E W - Y R K : 
WILEY AND PUTNAM, 161 BROADWAY. 

1842. 




T&- ) 3 r^ 

C 6¥- 



Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1842, 

BY GEORGE H. COLTON, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 
New-York. 



PRINTED BY WILLIAM OSBORN, 

88 William street. 



TO 

WASHINGTON IRVING, 

ILLUSTRIOUS AND BELOVED, AT HOME AND ABROAD, 

AND 
MOST HONORED OF THOSE TO WHOM HE IS KNOWN THE BEST, 

THIS POEM 

IS, BY PERMISSION, 

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE. 



In committing this Poem to the press, the author 
cannot deny that he feels much of that distrust and 
diffidence which others have expressed on the occa- 
sion of their first appearance before the public. 
The plea of youth, as well as that of haste in com- 
position, often offered as an excuse for inaccuracies 
and defects, has been overruled by the acknow- 
ledged judges of literature : the author, therefore, 
must appear before his critics, deprived of any 
apology for his faults, and submit to such judgment 
as they may be pleased to pass upon his writings. 

He has been mainly anxious in this Poem to de- 
lineate the character, customs and habits of the In- 
dian tribes, who have passed, and are passing, so 
fast away, that little more will soon be left of them to 
sight or memory, than of the race who went before 
them. 



PREFACE. 



It would be idle to deny, that he has also been 
ambitious, not only of adding his mite to the litera- 
ture of his country, but of leaving to future times a 
brief description of some of the magnificent scenery 
of the West, which the busy hand of man is daily 
changing. And in particular, he desired to exhibit 
and record the vast efforts of the really great man — 
savage and untutored though he was — whose name 
is adopted as the title of the work. Those efforts, 
though not crowned with success, nor devoted to the 
cause of civilization, were in him patriotism : and 
the author can see no reason for denying to the red- 
man that tribute of praise, which magnanimity, 
bravery, and love of country and of his race, has eli- 
cited in favor of his conquerors. 

If the Poem appear too long for this age of crowded 
employment and rapid movements, let it be remem- 
bered, that the time is necessarily extended through 
nearly two years; that the scenes of so varied a 
work, if laid in the wilderness, must naturally be at 
great distances apart ; that all motions of time and 
action will partake of the slowness and the vastness 
of the solitudes which surround them ; and that a 
national subject, so great in its immediate and col- 
lateral relations, could not be limited, without giving 



PREFACE. Vii 

it the appearance of sketches connected by violent 
transitions. 

Whether, however, the Author has succeeded in 
his designs, or shall receive the fulfilment of hopes 
which he may have too fondly indulged, it remains 
for his readers to determine : and to their impar- 
tial judgment— whether favorable or adverse — he 
submits the merits of the performance. 

New-York, March, 1842. 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO FIRST. 



My country ! if, unknown to fame, I dare 
Amid the gathering years my voice upraise 
For thee or thine in other tones than prayer, 
Waking long-silent musings into praise 
Of thee and of thy glories, let thy grace 
Accord me pardon ; since no master hand 

, Thy mighty themes on loftier lyre essays. 

Which, treasured long in thought, my mind expand 

And burn into my soul, O thou, my native land ! 

What though no tower its ruined form uprears, 
Nor blazoned heraldry, nor pictured hall, 
Awake the " memories of a thousand years ;" 
Yet may we many a glorious scene recall, 
And deeds long cherished in the hearts of all 
Who hail thee mother ; yet from mountain gray 
And forest green primeval shadows fall 
O'er lake and plain. The journeying stars survey 
No lovelier realm than thine, free-born Hesperia ! 
1 



10 TECUMSEH. 

Itis thy boast, that never on thy shore 
Have any unto foreign bondage bowed ; 
The warrior tribes of Eld lie mounded o'er, 
Where fell they wrapped in battle's gory shroud ; 
•The children of the forest, rudely proud, 
Yet struggled nobly for the graves where lie 
Their fathers' bones ; and aye the invading crowd 
Of foemen leagued we 've met with victory. 
Of such I sing : O deign one smile, fair Liberty ! 



A few years gone, the western star 

On his lone evening watch surveyed 
Through all his silent reign afar 

But one interminable shade, 
From precipice and mountain brown 
And tangled forest darkling thrown ; 
gave where, the blue lakes, inland seas, 
Kissed lightly by the creeping breeze, 
His beams, beyond unnumbered isles. 
Glanced quivering o'er their dimpling smiles ; 
Or where, no tree or summit seen, 
Unbrokenly a sea of green. 
That wild, low shores eternal laved. 
The Prairie's billowy verdure waved. 
Nor ever might a sound be heard, 
Save warbling of the wild-wood bird, 
Or some lone streamlet's sullen dash 
In the deep forest, or the crash 
Of ruined rock, chance-hurled from high, 
Or swarthy Indian's battle-cry, 
Whooped for revenge or victory. 



And through this wilderness of green, 
Low banks or beetling rocks between, 
Through rough and smooth, through fair and wild. 



TECUMSEH. 

The still strange scenery of a dream, 
By its enchanting power beguiled, 
Birth of the rock, the mountain's child, 

Th' Ohio rolled his sleepless stream, 
From morn till evening, day by day. 
Urging his solitary way. 
No nobler stream did ever glide 
From fountain head to Ocean's tide. 

III. 

Between the banks that face to face 

Gaze on each other's brows forever, 
And hold within their deep embrace 

A lengthened reach of that broad river. 
The autumn sun's last lingering rays. 
Shot long and low, did trembling rest 
Level upon its watery breast. 
Beneath those burnished arrows rolled, 
The waters seemed like molten gold. 
Unless some jutting rock from high, 

Or tree, hung midway in the air, 
Catching them ere they quivered by. 

Its dark form threw distinctly there ; 
Or light, through frost-changed foliage streaming, 
As to the eyes of childhood dreaming, 
A mingling of all colors made. 
From morning's flush to twilight's shade. 



Upon a broad stone, which the flood. 

With ceaseless murmurings, softly laved. 
While high o'er head gray rocks uprose. 

And green trees mid their ruins waved. 
Like granite statue in repose. 
Unmoved and stern a warrior stood. 
Not his the arms, the garb, the mien. 
That in chivalric days were seen, 



U 



12 TECUMSEH. 

When rushed from hall and lady's bower 

Gay knights with spear and shield, 
To reap in one tempestuous hour 

Glory on Death's dark field. 
Yet were his form and features high 
Of Nature's own nobility ; 
And though upon his face of stone 
No ray of quick expression shone, 
Within his keenly glancing eye 
Gleamed the fierce light of victory. 
The beaded moccasins he wore 
Were redder dyed in crimson gore ; 
The eagle's feather in his hair — 
Drops of the bloody rain were there ; 
■^ And on his wampum belt arrayed 

Three scalps, sad trophies ! were displayed 
An aged man's — the shrivelled skin 
Still showed a few locks white and thin ; 
A woman's next — the tresses gray 
Upon his thigh dishevelJed lay ; 
And third, of all the saddest sight, 
A child's fair curls in amber light 
Hung trembling to the breeze of night. 
The soft wind shakes their dewy wreath — 
Alas ! 'tis not a mother's breath ! 
A beam of light upon them lies — 
It is not from a mother's eyes I 



A moment there the chieftain stood, 
Glanced eye o'er river, rock and wood, 
His black locks shook, as if to say, 
" No time to go the watery way, 
Where yet my Father's smiles do play," 
Then shrunk within a tree's deep shade. 
To watch the day's last radiance fade. 
But when the sun withdrew those smiles 



TECUMSEH. 

To glad the Blessed Spirits' Isles, 
Where brave souls, Indian legends tell. 
Beyond his golden palace dwell — 
When fast o'er water, wood and sky 
The night's gray shades began to fly. 
From cave, by foliage hid from view. 
He launched in haste a light canoe. 
Then from the same retreat he led 
No Indian girl in forest bred, 
But, reared beneath the morning star, 
A pale-faced wanderer from afar. 



With trembling limbs and aimless tread, 
And mute as if her heart were dead. 
She faltered forth. Her drooping head. 
Like flower by night's chill dews oppressed. 
Hung heavy on her budding breast ; 
And through the fallen tresses there. 

Pale as a tomb through willows gleaming. 
Her hands were clasped in still despair ; 

And if no burning tears were streaming 
From the long lashes of her eye. 
It was that now their fount was dry ; 
For oft with wildered grief, that seemed 
Th' unuttered pain of one who dreamed. 
It on the mournful trophies dwelt. 
That ghastly graced her captor's belt. 
Chiding her long continued grief, 
That ne'er by mourning found relief. 
Into his bark, with rudest shock. 
The savage thrust her from the rock. 
And in her eyes his sharp bright knife 
Flashed, mocking her own hopes of life i 
Then with him entering, other twa 
For boat so frail made ample crew. 
1* 



18 



14 TECUMSEH. 



VII. 



In one*s lithe form and manly face 

A brother's lineaments might you trace 

Of him we've painted ; but his eye 

Had Ipss of fierce malignity, 

And youth, just burst from boyhood's blush, 

Gave to his mien a gentler grace. 

And often with a deeper flush 

On his brown cheek, as half afraid, 

He gazed upon the captive maid, 

Or lent her, wearied, kindly aid ; 

Nay, chid his brother's harsher mood, 

To flower so bruised could be so rude. 

Oh ! beauty hath all power to move 

Wild hearts to pity and to love. 



The other's hardened aspect gave 

Traits of the skilled and polished knave. 

His form was grace, as if at courts, 

In ladies' bowers and knightly sports, 

On foreign shores his youth had passed. 

With smiles and honors on him cast ; 

And if his face, once white and fair, 

Was something browned by sun and air, 

A manly beauty yet remained. 

Could gam, what ah ! too oft is gained, 

That love of fair and gentle maid, 

Which hopes, believes — 'till lured, betrayed I 

O noble ! — yet was well revealed 

His heart, though studiously concealed ; 

For oft th' observant eye may tell 

Black reptile through its glittering shell. 

The hasty glance — then steady gaze. 

The look unblenched — then changing phase, 

Were half of guilt, half recklessness ; 



TECUMSEH. l'*^ 

His eye would momently confess 

The wanton mind, the sensual soul, 

That, learned in lures and love's control, 

Would wile young Beauty from her bower, 

For triumph of one fleeting hour ; 

And o'er his cheek, if smiles might glide, 

His curling lip their light belied. 

The captive maiden could not brook 

A moment on that face to look. 

But shrunk from its all-evil eye. 

As from the glance of Destiny, 

And trusted more the savage youth. 

Whose looks were pity — soul was truth. 



Oh ! softly and silently glides the boat, 

As a cloud on the bosom of heaven afloat. 

Which, the Daughter of Ocean, hath risen in air, 

And sails o'er as boundless an ocean there, 

While she seeketh afar a home of rest, t 

Than the stormy place of her birth more blest ! 

The stars are out on the silent sky. 

Mute sentinels of Eternity, 

And low-voiced winds are hovering around 

On their viewless wings, with a spirit sound. 

And the moon hath climbed with a pensive pace, 

And ever a sweet but mournful grace. 

To behold from high, Heaven's loveliest daughter. 

Her pale, fair face in the glassy water. 

Which, far in the mirrored world below, 

Allureth the gazer thither to go. 

As often he pineth from earth to fly. 

And dwell in her brighter home on high. 

But now she looks down from her cold, white throne 

On a face as lovely and pale as her own ; 

For with sorrow and weariness, ceasing to weep, 

The maiden hath sunk to a troubled sleep. 



16 TECUMSEH. 

O'er bosom and forehead doth fitfully gleam 
The changing light of a changing dream ; 
As now on her cheek a soft smile plays, 
Till a burning blush drinks up its rays, 

And her lips half utter a much loved name^ 
Then an ashy hue for the flush of flame, 
And a tear through her closed eye slowly strays. 
O who is this fairer than heavenly vision, 
Ideal seen, or in dreams elysian, 
Thus breathlessly borne on her noiseless way, 
Like a spirit passing from earth's decay ! 

X. 

Through fair New-England's happy land, 

From northern mountains green and high, 
How brightly down to Ocean's strand. 

Won by his solemn minstrelsy 
To come and be his chosen bride, 
Connecticut rolls her silver tide ! 
Along her varied, verdant shore, 

Enchanted by her gentle voice, 
Ere blends it with the Atlantic roar, 

A thousand happy homes rejoice, 
Revealed, in sunlight or in shade, 
From mossy dell or grassy glade ; 
But none so happy, none so gay. 

As that which reared the tender birth 

Of her, the fairest child of Earth, 
Fair Mary — sweetest rose of May ! 



Though born beneath the western clime, 
Her lineage was of olden time ; 
And long ago in Albion's isle 
Was rudely reared their hoary pile, 
The strong abode, from age to age,. 
Of men, no heirs of vassalage. 



TECUMSEH. 

With portraits stern in gloomy hall, 
And banners brave on ivied vv^all, 
Waving o'er mask and festival — 
That glory, which, howe'er it die, 
Still lives in mourning Memory ! 
But when oppression wrought her worst 
In the wild reign of Charles the First, 
Fast armed with Cromwell's men of steel, 
They struggled for their country's weal : 
So when the king regained the throne, 
His father's sceptre and his own — 
A traitor doomed, though ne'er his heart 
Could from that dearest country part — 
Scorning to die a branded thing, 
Or kneel for mercy to a king. 
The last sole scion of his race 
Forsook their ancient dwelling-place, 
And sought beneath Hesperia's sky 
A home, and life, and Liberty. 
In after years his sons became 

High- priests at Freedom's holy altar, 
And helped to light the sacred flame 

Which never more shall fail nor falter, 
Till rolled in fire earth's orbed mass 
To night and ruin wildly pass ! 
Yes ! when th' alarm aloud and far 

Rang through the brazen trump of Mars, 
And nigh above the storm of war 

The Eagle soared among the stars, 
Still foremost in the battle's fire 
Was seen fair Mary's dauntless sire. 



At length the star of Peace returning 
Revealed its circlet bright — 

How softly in the orient burning 
To cheer the patriot's sight ! 



17 



18 TECUMSEH. 

Then in his green, secluded home, 
Without a wish or thought to roam, 
Still young in years, yet old in deed. 
And blest with valor's fairest meed — 
A maiden's love, that seven long years 
Had watched in silence and in tears 

That star of peace return — 
He took his dove unto his breast. 
Fond trembler ! fluttering to its rest. 

Though now no more to mourn ! 
Time glided by — one gentle flower 
Sprung up to grace their rural bower. 
To drink the sun-light and the dew. 
From nature catch each lovely hue. 

When pleased, to smile — when sad, to sigh. 
And make each gazer own the power 

Of Nature's sweet simplicity ! 

XIII. 

Nor was there wanting one to gaze 

Upon its budding loveliness. 
And in his heart's untravelled maze 

That loveliness confess. 
The wild rose blooming in the vale. 
Nor known but by the summer gale, 

May charm th' inconstant wanderer ; 
The violet shrinking in the dell 
To hear the lark his love-tale tell, 

Thus finds a worshipper ; 
But if in its secluded place 

One eye hath marked its early birth, 
Its opening bud, its blooming grace. 

By Nature's fostering reared from earth — 
Oh ! more than all will it adore 
In ceaseless love the lonely flower ! 



TECUMSEH. 19 



XIV. 



Young Moray even from infancy 
Lived only in his Mary's eye. 
Their parents neighbors, mates were they 
In childish studies or in play ; 
Together through the fields they strayed 
In morning's light — in evening's shade — 

Gathered sweet flowers by running streams, 
And up the dell, where lay her home, 
Oft went into the forest's gloom. 
To hear the tumbling cataract roar, 
Or, far along the river's shore, 

Watched on its tide the trembling beams 

Shift like the light in morning dreams ; 
And thought and said all childish things 
By brawling brooks and sunny springs. 
The visible outward world, whereon 
They looked, appeared as strange and lone. 
As that which meets the school-boy's gaze. 
When he with awe and wrapt amaze 

In glassy pool or wandering stream 
Beholds it hang beneath his feet — 

Ah ! lovely as a tranquil dream. 
So wonderful and sweet ! 
All things did seem, around, above, 
A beauty, an unuttered love. 
And lay upon their souls each hour 
A spell of most mysterious power. 
So much as one those souls became, 
Their thoughts, their feelings were the same : 
If o'er her face a shade might fly, 
His heart was sad, he knew not why ; 
Or if she smiled, joy filled his soul 
Beyond his bidding or control. 



20 TECUMSEH. 



And as they grew to years of youth, 

Together in the wells of truth 

They viewed their imaged faces fair 

Lit up with love, as, bending there, 

They drank with mutual longing fever 

The stainless waters failing never. 

From Holy Writ, from Nature's pages, 

From chronicles of olden ages. 

From revelations, strange and deep. 

That break the great world's ancient sleep, 

They learned bright wisdom, on the scrolls 

Of their most pure and tranquil souls 

Graven in characters of light, 

Like stars upon the scroll of night. 

And though, as Science showed her store 

Of ancient and of modern lore, 

Rocks, waters, winds, clouds, sun and sky, 

And, wheeling on their golden cars. 

The planets and the solemn stars 
Were now no more a mystery, 

That wondrous world within, their being, 

Watched by that Life, unseen, all-seeing, 
The mind, that can nor sleep nor die, 

Became unto their souls instead 

A deeper mystery and a dread ; 

And feelings, infinite and lone^ 

Stirred their still spirits with a tone 
Like harpings of Eternity, 
Till they became, each unto each. 
As two that on the Ocean's beach, 
All lonely, hear the mighty roar 
Of waters rolling evermore^ 

And feel their minds, their being one. 
Around them Earth — Heaven, God, above, 
Their thoughts were pure, their souls were love ; 



TECUMSEH. 81 

And Nature, with continual voice, 
Whispered their hearts " rejoice ! rejoice !" 

XVI. 

And joy was theirs : but mortal life 

Of chance and change is born, 
With doubt and fear and anguish rife, 

And fickle Fortune's scorn. 
Into the sweet, secluded place 
Embosoming their happiness, 
There came a stranger, wont to roam 
O'er the wide world without a home ; 
A weed upon the face of things, 
Drifting where'er the billow swings, 
To vice hereditary heir. 
His morals gaining every where. 
But, like a pebble of the ocean, 
Grown polished by continual motion ; 
A being without aim or end, 

Except to follow wanton charms 

And revel in gay Pleasure's armSj 
Polite to all — to none a friend. 
Fair was his face — his heart as black. 
As bolt, that on its blasting track 
Bursts from the thunder-storm's dark breast. 

And, riving with remorseless power 
The lofty oak and lowly flower, 
Makes the rent rock its place of rest 



He gazed on her : his soul became 
Alive with love's sincerest flame. 
Yet in his long-corrupted heart 
He doomed her to the spoiler's art. 
Deeming much flattery, many smiles, 
Had lured her to his wanton wiles, 
2 



22 TECUMSEH. 

He kneeled with earnest words to move 
Her to dishonorable love. 
" O fairest flower ! O gentle maid ! 
Why hide thy beauty in the shade ? 
Thou art my Jove, my light, my breath ! 
With thee is life — without thee, death ! 
Oh ! fly, thou dearest, fly with me 
From this dull home across the sea ! 
In fair Italia's sunny clime 
We will beguile the wings of Time 
With love's unwearying liberty — 
Sweet Mary, fly with me !" 



On her smooth cheek indignant pride 
O'ercame pale fear. " Durst thou," she cried, 
" Thus couple love's most sacred name 
With guilt and misery and shame 1 
Bid'st thou from home and friends to part, 
And follow such a thing as thou, 
Lured by the spoiler's faithless vow. 
Vain fool ! I knew, when first he came, 
De "Vere's false smiles hid falser heart !" 
She turned in haste — he clasped her hand : 
" Nay, hear me ! Hymen's sacred band 
Shall bind us, and our love shall be 
As holy — " "Miscreant ! leave me free !" — 
" Fool ! stay, thou shall /" — It scarce was said, 
Young Moray's hand was on him laid : 
" Thou curse upon the face of earth ! 
Thou deep-dyed traitor from thy birth ! 
Linger one moment, and I swear 
Thy false heart from thy breast to tear ! 
Haste, ere I crush thee — hence I" — De Vere 
Changed red and pale with rage and fear ; 
But guilt, surprised, unnerves the soul, 
Howe'er the tide of passion roll. 



TECUMSEH. 23 

With quivering lip and bloodshot eye 

He strode the green-wood hastily, 

But through clenched teeth, distinct and slow, 

Muttered a deep and burning vow : 

" Revenge — revenge upon her home 

Like Heaven's unsparing bolt shall come !" 

XIX. 

Too true the vow — the vengeance came. 

Constrained by friendship's sacred ties, 

The father, more humane than wise. 
Assigned his all, and gave his name, 
To save a comrade brave in arms 
From ruin and the law's alarms. 
Vain was the noble sacrifice ; 
. The wealth of both was all too light : — 
De Vere with hatred's eagle-eyes 

Discerned th' advantage, bought the right 
To crush them with law's hand of steel. 
Then made to Sidney's fears appeal : 
" Give me thy daughter for my bride. 
And still in wealth and peace abide ; 
Refuse me — by my soul, I swear. 
Thou art to want and ruin heir !" 
" Born wretch !" broke forth the stern reply, 
While flashed with fire his aged eye — 
" To thy black heart and passions wild 
Sooner than trust my gentle child, 

I '11 lay her in the grave ! 
Thou speak'st of riches — thrice-accurst ! 
Thou speak'st of vengeance — do thy worst ! 
Thou speak'st of ruin — let it burst ! — 

The Sidney spurns thee, slave !" 

XX. 

Thus of his heritage bereft. 
With but ancestral memories left, 



24 TECUMSEH. 

Which through all change the heart still owns- 
Yet firm of soul, and strong of hand, 
The aged patriot, with a band 

Of stern New-England's hardy sons, 
Left his green native vale behind. 
Though thinking none so fair to find. 
And, ne'er by doubt or dread oppressed, 
Sought the wild bosom of the West. 



The noble, dauntless Pioneers, 

Journeying afar new homes to raise 
In the lone woods with toil and tears. 
Meeting with faith the coming years. 

Theirs be the highest meed of praise ! 
He, who, with cost, and care, and toil. 
Hath reared the vast enduring pile ; 
He, who hath crossed the Ocean foam. 
Strange lands for science' sake to roam ; 
He, who in danger and in death 
Hath faced the spear, the cannon's breath, 
Or borne the dungeon and the chain. 
His country's rights to save or gain ; 
He, who amid the storms of state 
Hath swayed the trembling scales of Fate 
For her and Freedom, heeding nought 
The scorn of hatred, sold or bought — 
Are such not glorious ? — Yet O deem 

Their being less heroical ; 
For mingling with it comes the dream 

And hope of Fame's bright coronal : — 
They see the light of years to come 
Streaming around their silent tomb ! 
But those who leave the homes of love. 
And pass by many a long remove 
Through the deep wilderness, to rear, 
In voiceless suffering and in fear. 



TECUMSEH. 25 

Not for themselves a resting place — 
Their hope is only for their race, 
For whom their lives of pain are given ; 
Their light to cheer is light from Heaven ; 
Nor look they, save to God, at last 
For life's reward when life is past, 
But lay them down, with years oppressed, 
Beneath the patriarch woods to rest. 
Without a thought. Fame's wandering wing 
One plume upon their graves shall fling — 
Thus noiseless in their death as birth, 
The best brave heroes of the earth ! 
While roll thy rivers, spreads thy sky, 
Or rise thy lifted mountains high, 
Hesperia, guard their memory ! 

xxn. 

And in her home, a thousand miles 
From that which won her infant smiles. 
And charmed her childhood into tears. 
And fed with thought her growing years, 
Fair Mary dwelt mid scenes, might well 
Beguile with their Elysian spell 
The dreams of her loved native dell. 
Where dark Miami's rushing stream 
Through willows wild did dimly gleam, 
Their simple, lowly cottage rose, 
Bosomed in Eden's sweet repose. 
At distance from the rest removed, 
It was by her the better loved. 
Before it swept the voiceful river. 
Communing with the winds forever ; 
Behind a gentle slope displayed 
Some scattered trees of friendly shade. 
In Nature's negligence arrayed ; 
And near, a fount, with slumbrous soundf 
Diffused a dewy coolness round. 
2* 



2d TECUMSEH. 

The wild-rose bloomed beside the door, 

The wild-vine wreathed the windows o'er, 

And thousand flowers all lonely grew, 

Ne'er blushing to the human view 

Till Mary came with fairer hue, 

Nor wooed but by the wild-wood bird 

Till Mary came with softer word. 

And ever as the Sabbath sun 

On those rude dwellings calmly shone. 

Though no cathedral towards the sky 

Its gloomy turrets lifted high, 

Yet echoed with the voice of prayer 

The many-pillared temple there — 

The dim, the still, the solemn wood — 

For rightly deemed that pilgrim band. 
He was the God of solitude. 

As of a peopled land ! 



But love, oh ! love can ne'er rejoice 
In fairest sight or sweetest voice. 
Unless the loved one may confess 
Alike with it their loveliness ! 
And woman's heart — 'tis a sad, sweet lyre. 

Of many a strange and secret string ; 
But all its varied chords conspire 

Only of love to sing ! 
Sorrow, and joy, and misery, 
May win of a part brief melody ; 
But far below are others that move 
Never, if not to the breath of love ; 
And if all the rest are silent and still. 
Yet these in the soul's deep chambers thrill 
With a glad low voice or a mournful moan, 
As the wind-harp sings to itself alone — 
Oh ! this is the heart's undying tone ! 



TECUMSEH. 27 



The beauty of her home could never 
The maiden's thoughts from Moray sever. 
In dreams by day and dreams by night 
His image passed before her sight, 
And, as in days to memory dear. 
Low words were in her charmed ear. 
Nay, when the world beside was still, 
She oft would climb the dewy hill, 
And eastward bend her tearful eyes, 
To watch the morning sun arise, 
As asking by her earnest gaze, 
What tidings bore its lingering rays 
Of him alone her life could bless, 
Lord of her heart and happiness. 

XXV. 

Meanwhile, with Mary's look and tone. 
Young Moray's light and life were gone ; 
Joy had decayed, and Nature wore 
Her garb of loveliness no more. 
Days, weeks, and months, as sank the sun 

Behind the purpled hills afar, 
He wished its rapid race to run 

And be with her ; and when the star 
Of eve, as dusky night came on. 
Love's signal trembled, bright and lone, 
He thought of her on whom it shone. 
At last, in hunter's rude attire. 
He left with tears his aged sire ; 
Resolved the western wilds to roam, 
And find her in that distant home. 

XXVI. 

He crossed the Hudson's wizard stream — 
He climbed the Kaatskills' clifted mountains- 



28 TECUMSEH. 

He passed the Mohawk's troubled dream, 
And blue Cayuga's gushing fountains ; 
A moment bent him, awe- struck, o'er 
The gray Niagara's anthem roar, 
In th' ear of God that ceaseth never — 
Trod the wild side of Erie's lake, 
Whose haunted breast the tempests make 
Their own dark home forever ; 

Then plunged into the ancient wood. 
The solemn, boundless solitude. 
Where, save the wind, or rushing river, 
Or cry of bird or beast, no sound 
Broke the deep stillness reigning round. 
By mossy rock — by lonely dell — 

By many a tree in green decay, 
That slumbered where of old it fell — 

By mounds, where mighty heroes lay, 
Long ages numbered with the dead. 

The glory of a vanished day — 
With tireless limbs and quickened tread 
He wound his solitary way. 



At last one autumn morn he stood, 
Within the hoar, unbreathing wood, 
Above her home. His soul became 
So feeble as a dying flame : — 
Suspense in bosoms stout and brave 
Will make the stillness of the grave ! 
Through faded leaves the early sun 
Upon the cottage coldly shone. 
All there was silent. — Did they sleep ] — 
He felt life's curdling currents creep 
Back to his heart with shuddering chill ; 
He hurried down — but all was still, 
Except the dog's low plaintive whine, 
Or wind that sighed through rustling vine. 



TECUMSEH. 29 

He knocked — he paused in doubt and dread — 
He saw the threshold stained and red — 
He burst the door — O God ! the sight 
Had seared a seraph's eyes of light ! 
All pale and scalpless on the floor, 

With eyes from which the soul was flown. 
Stilled pulse, and hearts that beat no more, 

Lay mother, sire, and gentle son, 
Whom few brief years had smiled upon. 
Death had been there — and in their blood 
The faithful dog beside them stood, 
Moaning to them most piteously — 
It was a fearful sight to see ! 

XXVIII. 

Dismayed, bewildered, and amazed, 
One moment Moray vaguely gazed. 
As if some terror, strange and dread, 
Had numbed him on the midnight bed. 
Then, slowly as his soul awoke. 
From his pent breast words wildly broke : 
" O curst De Vere ! I know full well, 
" This is thy work, thou fiend of Hell !" 
No more he spake, but kneeling low. 
On each cold cheek and pallid brow 
As pale lips pressed. Above him there 
Swept the chill waters of despair — 
Yet but a moment : o'er the deep. 

Like Mars' red planet, calm and slow, 

Rose to his soul a burning vow, 
Which neither time, nor pain, nor sleep, 
Might ever from its gaze remove — 
The star of its revenge and love. 
He rose — and there he saw it stand 

In fiery strength, serene and red ; 
It pointed with its burning hand 

Unto the cold and dead, 



30 



TECUMSEH. 

And beckoned him from wailing-s long, 
To track the bloody steps of wrong. 
In calmness Moray passed, and sought 
One like himself in word and thought, 
And who in early years had been 
Companion in each boyish scene, 
Now turned a hunter, swift in chase, 
And skilled the Indian's trail to trace. 
Revenge the burden of their prayer, 
They left the dead to others' care. 
And plunged, with Hope and God to aid. 
Dauntless into the forest shade. 

XXIX. 

As meets her love a fair young bride 
With noiseless step and graceful pride, 
The boat dropped down the coursing tide ; 
Aiid as they won their gradual way. 
The shadows darker round them lay. 
More solemn rose the silent wood. 
More stern and high, on either side. 
The frowning rocks like giants stood 
To guard their time-long solitude, 
Till at the last they reared their brows 
A thousand feet above their base. 
Where evermore the river pays. 
With broken words, its suppliant vows. 
More mournful was the wind's low song. 
As passed they this wild scene along ; 
More bright the stars lay on the stream, 
More sadly shone the moon's pale beam — 
All nature seemed their souls to fill 
With whispered voice, '^ be still ! be still ! 

XXX. 

The maiden slept ; but the Indian boy 
Watched o'er her with unuttered joy, 



TECUMSEH. 31 



Still gazing- on her sweet wan face, 
Lit up with dreams in sleep's embrace : 
And while the chieftain sate beside 
The helm, the light canoe to guide. 
Eyeing the rocks with keen survey. 
As dark, as still, as stern as they. 
He, borne on love's bewildering tide. 
In low notes, lingering on his tongue. 
This simple song half-said, half sung. 



THE WORDS OF THE INDIAN YOUTH TO THE CAPTIVE MAID. 

" How fair is thy face, pale flower ! 
The stars look down on thee, 
And our Father's Sister gazeth 

Thy loveliness to see. 
Bright, bright is their deathless ray ! 
But they know thou'rt fairer than they, 
Pale Lily-of- the- Water — 
Sweet flower, sleep ! 

" I've seen our loveliest maidens ; 
Their eyes as stars are bright. 
Their voices are sweet as a fountain's 

That murmurs in the light. 
But they were not a joy to me. 
As thou when I look on thee. 

Pale Lily-of-the- Water — 
Sweet flower, sleep ! 

" Why droopeth thy head, lone captive 1 
Mourn not the loved ones blest ; 
In the white man's Happy Islands 

Their spirits are at rest. 
Thy image to them shall beam. 
As they are beheld in thy dream, 

Pale Lily-of-the-Water — 
Sweet flower, sleep ! 



32 TECUMSEH. 

" My brother is rude to thy sorrow ! 
He hath a warrior's soul — 
He is terrible in the battle — 
He scorns a maid's control ! 
But afar in our fathers' home 
Thou shalt in my bosom bloom, 

Pale Lily-of-the- Water — 

Sweet flower, sleep !" 

XXXII. 

Still brooding o'er his own sweet words. 
As o'er their songs the summer birds. 
He sat, when lo ! from out the rock 

A sudden flash, like lightning's dart — 

The bullet sped — it struck his heart — 
He bounded with the shock 
High in the air, then, like a stone. 
Fell on the wave without a groan — 
To love, to dream — no more ! — no more ! 

Above his warm, high heart, the river 

Closed cold and silently forever, 
And shone the moon as she shone before. 
O many a dark deed hatli she seen, 
Yet looks the same — still bright, serene ! 
'Twas well : — he passed, as at breath. 
From love's young dream to sleep in death. 
Ere joy was dead — ere hopes were flown, 
Like leaves of Autumn, sere and strown — 
Ere came that cheerless, slow decay, 
From which we dread to go, yet stay 
In vain regret and cureless grief — 
His spirit found from life relief. 
Ah ! never might he know the pangs — the pain- 
Would pierce his soul and rend his heart in twain ! 

XXXIII. 

An instant did the chieftain gaze 
In unaccustomed wild amaze ; 



TECUMSEH. 33 

But when o'er him he loved so well 

The sullen v/aters gurgling fell, 

He started up with quick, fierce yell, 

Wreathed in his bloody hand and bare 

The sleeping maiden's flowing hair : 

" Too long," he cried, "I've spared thy blood, 

To please Oo-loo-ra's simple mood — 

Now die thou for his death !" 
His dark locks o'er his forehead streamed, 
His bright knife in the moonlight gleamed — 

It soon had found a sheath. 
But on the instant rose De Vere, 
Though not in soul untouched with fear, 
And seized the hand uplifted high: 
" My brother," said he artfully, 
" Say, hath my brother's reason fled I 
Thou know'st the maid is mine to wed ; 
For thy revenge the rest are slain ; 
But if her haughty scorn remain, 
Then at thy nation's council-fire 
Oo-loo-ra's spirit shall require, 
In blood of hers thy hands be red." 
" His words are good," the Indian said : 
"The pale-face in his hut shall dwell." 
He grimly smiled, as knowing well, 
That maid would sooner wed the grave, 
Than be a murderer's sensual slave ; 
Then calmly did his seat resume. 
And silent mood ; nor might you trace 

Thought, memory, of what had been, 
Or by his bosom or his face. 

Still, cold, as Hecla's frozen scene : 

But in that dark breast, well I ween, 
In boiling eddies went and came 
The lava flood of Hecla's flame. 



34 TECUM SEH. 



Warned by the shot thus hostile sent 
From that primeval battlement, 
They hastened where th' opposing side 
Flung deeper shadows o'er the tide. 
The moon sank down : yet hour by hour, 
As drawn by some invisible power. 
Through the dim stillness on they sped, 
Like fabled spirits of the dead. 
In shadow borne, and silence lone, 
Along the lake of Acheron. 






TECUMSEH 



CANTO SECOND. 



O STAR of vengeance ! light of every soul 
That feels the sense of hatred or of wrong, 
No heavenly planet hath thy far control 
To make the faintest brave, the feeble strong. 
They see thy burning orb through darkest throng 
Of clouds and storms that round them gathering lower, 
And follow firm through toil and perils long : 
Whenever come the object and the hour. 
Upon the human heart thou hast resistless power. 

From thee, O mightiest star, the Patriot's breast 
Receives the strength, that meets and conquers all ; 
Frail, shrinking Woman at thy stern behest 
Nerves her with will, which nothing can appal : 
But most the savage heeds thy fiery call, 
Where'er thou redly rise o'er wood or wave. 
And time, nor change, nor aught that may befall, 
Can turn his fixed pursuit to slay or save ; 
Nor cares he aught, albeit thou gleam upon his grave. 



36 TECUMSEH. 



It was an Autumn morn : the sun 

Wearily rose his race to run — 

He came but late, as an aged one ; 

The cold, gray mists, like flags unfurled, 

Around the sleeping earth were curled ; 

On prairie, river, lake and wood, 

Lay the deep dream of solitude. 

Lone rising, in the midst was seen 

One mighty mound, with mosses green — 

Save where, by winds of autumn blown, 

The pale and withered leaves were strown— • 

A huge rude pile, built up of old 

By hands long since forgot and cold. 

Time spares their tombs alone : — what name 

Their darkly mouldering dust can claim ! 

And as the mists were rolled away, 

Before, outspread the eye beneath, 
A prairie's boundless prospect lay 

Like solemn Ocean, as the breath 
Of morning swept its surface o'er. 
With long, slow waves, from shore to shore- 
There only rose not Ocean's roar ; 
While all behmd it stretched a range 

Of varied forest, fading sere. 
Touched with the spirit of a change, 

That falleth with the changing year ; 
And there, by swell or grassy glade, 
Unscared the antlered wild-deer strayed. 
Or fed along the prairie's verge 
Vast herds, that never felt the scourge. 
Or dashed o'er valley, plain and hill. 
Lords of their own unbounded will, 
As ocean billows shoreward press. 
The proud steeds of the wilderness. 



TECUMSEH. 37 



II. 



Upon that mound's most silent height, 
Ere dewless fell the morning's light, 
With step the hare had scarcely heard, 
Two warriors of the wood appeared. 
By his broad brow of care and thought, 

By his most regal mien and tread, 
By robes with richest wampum wrought, 

And eagle's plume upon his head, 
The one should be a chief of power, 
And ruler of the battle's hour ; 
Nor e'er did eye a form behold 
At once more finished, firm and bold. 
Of larger mould and loftier mien 
Than oft in hall or bower is seen. 
And with a browner hue than seems 
To pale maid fair, or lights her dreams, 
He yet revealed a symmetry 
Had charmed the Grecian sculptor's eye, 
A massive brow, a kindled face. 
Limbs chiselled to a faultless grace, 
Beauty and strength in every feature, 
While in his eyes there lived the light 
Of a great soul's transcendent might — 
Hereditary lord by nature ! 
As stood he there, the stern, unmoved 
Except his eagle glance that roved, 
And darkly limned against the sky 
Upon that mound so lone and high, 
He looked the sculptured God of Wars, 
Great Odin, or Egyptian Mars, 
By crafty hand, from dusky stone, 
Immortal wrought in ages gone, 
And on some silent desert cast. 
Memorial of the mighty Past ! 
And yet, though firm, though proud bis glance, 
3* 



38 TECUMSEH. 

There was upon his countenance 
That settled shade, which oft in Ufe 
Mounts upward from the spirit's strife. 
As if upon his soul there lay 
Some grief which would not pass away. 



The other's lineaments and air 

Revealed him plainly brother born 
Of him, who on that summit bare 

So sad, yet proudly, met the morn : 
But, lighter built, his slender frame 
Far less of grace, as strength, could claim ; 
And, with an eye that, sharp and fierce, 
Would seem the gazer's breast to pierce, 
And low'ring visage, aye the while 
Inwrought of subtlety and guile. 
Whose every glance, that darkly stole, 
Bespoke the crafty vCruel soul. 
There was from all his presence shed 
A power, a chill mysterious dread. 
Which made him of those beings seem, 
That shake us in the midnight dream. 
Yet were his features, too, o'ercast 
With mournfulness, as if the past 
Had been one vigil, painful, deep and long, 
Of hushed Revenge still brooding over wrong. 

IV. 

No word was said : but long they stood, 
And side by side, in thoughtful mood, 
Watched the great curtains of the mist 

Up from the mighty landscape move ; 
'Twas surely spirit-hands, they wist, 

Did lift them from above. 
And when, unveiled, to them alone 
The solitary world was shown, 



TECUMSEH. 39 

And dew from all the mound's green sod 
Rose, like an incense, up to God, 
Reclined, yet silent still, they bent 
Their eyes on Heaven's deep firmament — 
As if were open to their view 
The stars' sun-flooded homes of blue — 
Or gazed, with mournful sternness, o'er 
The rolling prairie stretched before ; 
While round them, fluttering on the breeze, 
The sere leaves fell from faded trees. 



"Brother — the moons their course have run," 

At last, with liquid voice and sweet, 
He of the eagle-plume begun — 

" And Els-kwa-ta-wa's prophet feet 
Have journeyed far. Say, hath he been 
Where once the Shawnee's home was seen 1 
" Is it not pleasant still to stray 
Where once we dwelt]" low words replied — 
" His feet have roamed a summer's day 
Scioto's wandering stream beside." — 
" And were its murmurs sweet to hear 1 
And did the bending willows near 
Sigh pleasantly, as when we played 
In childhood oft beneath their shade ]" — 
" Yes, brother : but they seemed to mourn 
'The red man may no more return V " — 
" And rise they still, those mighty trees, 
That waved their old arms in the breeze 
Above our wigwam long ago ]" — 
" Tecumseh, no ! — Great Spirit, no ! 
The white man's axe hath hewn them down ; 
The very spot were hardly known !" — 
" 'Tis well : but it — the burial-place, 
Where slept of old the Shawnee race V* 



40 TECUMSEH. 

He paused — on Els-kwa-ta-wa turned 

His large dark eye that deeply burned. 

" The Shawnee graves 1 — The white-man's plough 

Hath passed them rudely through and through ! 

Our ancient dead 1 — I saw them strown, 

All white and shattered, bone by bone !" 



Tecumseh sprung, as if a dart 

Had pierced with barbs his swelling heart 

" For this, of all their wrongs the worst, 

Great Spirit ! let them be accurst ! 

Yet this is well : it nerves me more. 

Than all our race hath borne before." 

" Then joy was mine," the Prophet said, 

" That, borne afar, the cherished dead. 

Our sire, hath but a lonely rest ; 

For now may nought his sleep molest." 

" Ay !" cried Tecumseh — "lone his grave 

By Mississippi's distant wave. 

But, say, how long ere that retreat 

Will hear the tread of stranger feet ? 

I see the pale, cold adder creep 

And coil him o'er our father's sleep !" 

Mournfully in his hands he bowed 

His dusky brow, the stern and proud. 

" Too true the vision meets thine eye," 

Dark Els-kwa-ta-Vt/^a gave reply : 

" The red-man quaffs the drink of fire, 

Till, made a coward, slave and liar 

Worse than the pale-face, day by day 

He fools his heritage away. 

Soon will the Father of Waters wide 

Behold his forests' fallen pride : 

Yes ! where the Shawnee chieftain lies, 

Soon will the white-raan's dwelling rise !" 



TECUMSEH. 41 



VII. 



«< No ! — never shall it be, till all 

The red-man's race in death shall fall ♦ 

How many tribes dost thou, O Sun, 

Of thy dark children rise upon 1 

War shall be kindled : nation, name. 

Shall perish in the rolling flame, 

Or we our heritage reclaim !" 

He paused — and o'er his kindled face 

The shades of doubt fell down apace : 

" Would that the oath this heart hath sworn, 

On every Indian's soul were borne ! 

It is not thus : their wasting strife 

Against each other whets the knife !" — 

" This shall be changed. Since met we last. 

Long nights hath Els-kwa-ta-wa passed 

i^y ancient graves, and in the winds 

Strange voices heard : — the red-men's minds 

Are like dark waters ; — o'er the deep 

A wind hath blown — ^their troubled sleep 

Conceives dim dreamings. Far and near 

The Prophet's words are words of fear ; 

And he hath told them, soon shall come 

A herald of the red-man's doom 

From the Great Spirit. Go — Rejoice : 

Who like Tecumseh hath a voice'?" — 

" Thy words are wise ; thy thoughts are mine ; 

This garb bespeaks the great design. 

Tecumseh's soul had said, go forth 

Through the great waters of the North, 

Round the far South, and o'er the West 

By the lone streams, nor ever rest, 

Till all the tribes united stand 

In battle for their native land." 



42 TECUMSEH. 



VIII. 



" Thy words in Els-kwa-ta-wa's ear 
Are sweet as running waters near. 
But knowst thou not, the stranger race, 
As forest leaves, are numberless V — 
" And hast thou seen through forests deep 
The whirlwind of the Autumn sweep 1 
Tis past — the leaves lie dead and pale 
By stream and fountain, hill and vale." 
Glowed fiercer with a furnace-light 
The Prophet's eyes : " O vision bright ! 
I see the mighty gathering : 
The Prairies with their footsteps ring : 
I hear the whoop : the red torch gleams : 
Blood — blood upon the hatchet streams ! 
The frontiers blaze ! — maid, son and sire 
Sink with their wigwams rolled in fire !" — 
" Yes, brother : but ere this may be 
Long toil and pain are mine to see. 
That all the tribes one chain may bind, 
I journey with the wandering wind. 
' Tis thine to let no sudden start 
Untimely break the chain apart ; 
'Tis thine to mist the white-man's eyes : 
And hear me ! let no sacrifice 
Of red-men to thy wrath be burned, 
Before Tecumseh hath returned." 
Beneath his glance with cow'ring eye 
The crafty Prophet made reply : 
"Are Els-kwa-ta-wa's thoughts his own? 
Wise are his brother's words alone." — 
" Tis well. Upon my journeyings far 
I will outwatch the Northern Star. 
Soon shall the pale face, paler grown, 
Like snow drifts o'er the plains be strown : 



TECUMSEH. 43 

Tribes from the setting sun shall haste, 

And in the stranger's wigwams feast — 

Ay, and Tecumseh's name shall be 

Their heritage and memory !" 
Then, parting, from that ancient mound they passed, 
Even as they came, with silent steps and fast. 



Some hours were gone. How still and slow 

In the vast solitudes they go, 

Where nought may mark them to the eye, 

Save the old sun along the sky, 

And mighty Nature sits serene 

With most unalterable mien !. . 

Some hours were past : the mists were flown- 

So bright the visible day-god shone — 

Like weird enchanter's envious spell, 

From all the scene immoveable ; 

And in their place an atmosphere 

Filled the lone world, ethereal, clear, 

Yet faintly gathering, far and dim. 

That haze around the horizon's rim. 

Which, at the last, more still and deep, 

Wraps heaven and earth in dreamy sleep. 

Where seemed but banks of haze to float, 

By many a billowy league remote 

From that rude mound, upon the side 

Of other woods extending wide. 

Where other prairies stretched before, 

And other waves ran darkening o'er, 

An Indian camp of wigwams lay 

Beneath the tranquil noon-tide ray. 

Lapped in the beauty of a scene 

Which he, oh ! he, who hath not been 

A rover through the wild, green West, 

Can little know, how brightly blest 

It was in all that could impart 

A tide of gladness through the heart ! 



44 TECUMSEH. 



By the usurping stranger spurned 

Far from their homes, beloved and mourned, 

Where sweet Scioto softly glides 

Along her low and willowy sides, 

A portion of the Shawnee race 

Made here their transient resting-place : 

And, leagued with them, for game to roam 

The wilds that are the Indian's home. 

Or dye their hands in foemen's slaughter, 
Swarth, fiery Ottowas had come 

From Huron's dark-blue water ; 
Awaiting now their chiefs' return, 

Whose feet, for vengeance on some foe. 

Had borne him — where none sought to know — 
Ken-hat-ta-wa, the fierce and stern. 
Through whose dark veins great Pontiac's blood 
Rolled all the proud vindictive mood. 
Which made that name the white-man's dread, 
Even when his mighty soul was fled. 



A motley scene the camp displayed. 
Their simple wigwams, loosely made 
Of skins and bark, and rudely graced 

With sylvan honors of the chase, 
At scattered intervals were placed 

Beneath majestic trees — the race 
Of other years ; while, statelier reared, 
Alone and in their midst appeared 
The lodge of council, honored most, 
Yet unadorned with care or cost. 
Their beaded leggins closely bound, 
Their blankets wreathed their loins around, 
Whence rose each neck and brawny breast 
Like bust of bronze with tufted crest, 



TECUM SEH. 45 

Around, the forest-lords were seen — 

Some, old, with grave and guarded mien 

High converse holding in the shade — 

Some idly on the green turf laid, 

Or, girt with arms of varied name. 

Repairing them for strife or game ; 

Their dusky wives, from birth the while 

Inured to care and silent toil, 

Prepared the venison's savory food 

And yellow corn, in sullen mood, 

Or sweetly to their infants sung. 

So light in wicker-cradles swung 

Upon the breeze-rocked boughs ; in play •j%' 

Lithe urchins did their skill essay, 

Beneath some chief's approving eye, 

To launch the feathered arrow high, 

The hatchet hurl, or through the air 

Send the shrill whoop ; half robed or bare, 

The youth would act war's mimic game. 

Or strove their wild-born steeds to tame — 

Perchance their captives scarce a day— 

Themselves untamed and wild as they ; 

While sat beneath the green leaves fading 

Young maids, their chequered baskets braiding, 

Whose merry laugh or silvery call 

Oft rang most sweet and musical. 

Whose glancing black eyes often stole 

To view the worshipped of their soul : 

And ever in th' invisible breeze 

Waved solemnly those tall old trees, 
And fleecy clouds, above the prairies flying, 
Led the light shadows, chasing, chased and dying. 

XII. 

Why start they all 1 A whoop is heard, 

As from exulting victor near ; 
A form — another — lo ! a third 
4 



TECUMSEH. 

Doth in the forest depths appear. 
The first is he, that ruthless brave, 
Who stood by broad Ohio's wave — 
The scalps are in his girdle yet : 
The next — O may his soul be met, 
Through life, by fiends of v^^rath and fear 
And black remorse, accurst De Vere ! 
The last — poor girl ! how wan and worn ! 
Her steps are faint — her limbs are torn — 
The tears are frozen in that eye 
Which heedless looks on vacancy — 
Nor ever doth she raise her head, 
Where'er her faltering feet may tread. 
Thy face — it hath a paler cast. 
Dear Mary ! since we saw thee last; 
Yet oh ! how pure, how sadly fair, 
Seen through thy dark dishevelled hair — 
The marble beauty void of breath, 
Which charms the chaste, cold kiss of Death 
Oh ! in that face subdued their lies 
The soul of many agonies ! 
Sweet one ! there is an Eye above 
Looks down on thee with pitying love. 
All, thronging, gaze — and, gazing, stand ; 
But stern Ken-hat-ta-wa waves his hand 
With angry gesture of command. 
Then in the lodge, reserved and proud, 
Awaits the council's gathering crowd. 

XIII. 

In dark array they sat around. 

Nor uttered syllable nor sound. 

Unmoved as images of stone. 

Or bodies whence the life hath flown. 

From whose cold features, carved and stern, 

No thought might searching gazer learn. 

As speechless sank the maiden there, 



TECUMSEH. 

In listless pain and mere despair. 
She did not weep, she did not sigh, 
But sat with fixed and stony eye, 
And moveless limbs, and lips apart, 
And bosom hushed, and pulseless heart. 
And forehead in her pale hand leant, 
As she were wrought, the monument 
Of all unuttered grief below — 
Th' ideal of immortal wo ! 
But memory — ah, where was it 1 

Unconscious of the present lot, 
Through time and season did it flit, 

And hover round the thrice-loved spot — 
The dell, the stream, the fount, the flowers, 
Home of her childhood's happy hours — 
And round the forms, the faces bright. 
The loved, the lost, who were its light 1 
In sooth, I know not ; but, where'er 
Her soul, it was not present there ! 
At last an aged Sachem rose, 
With whitened head of hundred snows : 
" What doth Ken-hat-ta-wa require T 
Why burns for him the council-fire 1 
Wise thoughts do with our brother dwell. 
Our ears are open. Let him tell." 

XIV. 

The chieftain spake, the maiden near : 
" Hear, brothers ; sages, warriors, hear. 
When was the Ottowa's feathered dart 
Last reddened in the white-man's heart? 
When blazed the stranger's wigwam last, 
And shrieked the pallid maid aghast 1 
Lo ! many moons have seen the slain — 
I would that time were come again ! — 
'Twas then my father fell, by one 
Of bloodless heart, a coward's son ! 



47 



48 TECUMSEH. 

And I to A-re-ous-ki made — 
When was the Ottowa's oath unpaid 1 — 
In my young years a vow, my knife 
Should cleave his scalp and drink his life. 
But he for many winters kept 
His home afar, and vengeance slept. 
Late to Miami's rushing water 
He brought his squaw, his son and daughter ; 
Our pale-faced brother, Vere, my guide, 
I stood their wigwam-fire beside, 
I slew them all, the young, the old. 
Save this pale maid — their scalps behold : — 
Not unavenged the son of Pontiac died ! 



" But skulking wolves were on our trail. 

We coursed, beneath the moon beams pale, 

Ohio's tide. A shot was sped. 

Brothers, Oo-loo-ra's spirit fled ! — 

My father's best beloved son — 

The murmuring brook — the bounding wave- 
The panther fleet — ^the eagle brave ; 

His warrior race was just begun — 
Cold is his grave ! 

And shall the Indian pass from day 

And none attend him on the way ? 

No, brothers ! A-re-ous-ki bade 

My hand to slay the pale-faced maid, 

Who might Oo-loo-ra's slave become 

Far in the red-man's happy home. 

'T were done — but lo ! our brother cried, 

She was his captive, and his bride 

Must be, and in his wigwam dwell. 

The Ottowa spared her then : 'tis well : 

Let Pale-flower now my brother wed. 

It is enough — my words are said." 



TECUMSEH. 49 



Love struggling in exulting eye 
With shame and hate, De Vere drew nigh. 
Soft, earnest to her ear were borne 
His words, yet sounding half in scorn : 
" Dear lady, view me not with hate, 
That thou art here alone with Fate. 
It ne'er had been, if thou, I swear, 
Hadst been more lenient or less fair ! 
But, Mary, now no longer rove ; 
Fly, fly with me and Hope and Love. 
Thou ne'er wast lovelier in thy grace : 
Oh ! die not, nor, if saved, embrace 
Lone years of grief ! — Come, give to me 
Thy haughty charms, and peril flee : 
What sweet existence may we have 
In some bright home beyond the wave ! 
Thou art an orphan. — Be my bride, 
And none shall harm thee by my side : 
But, else, not even my love can save 
From savage wrath — an early grave !" 



As if the Promethean fire 
A marble statue might inspire, 
Or Beauty from the couch of Death 
Were wakened by its Maker's breath, 
She sprung from earth. With jet-like start 
Rushed the red fountain of her heart 
Through each blue vein, and hues of flame 
Lightened o'er all her swelling frame. 
Burned through her forehead pale and high, 
And kindled in her lustrous eye ; 
And trembling words she uttered there, 
Of indignation, not of fear. 
" Thy bride ]— There 's blood upon thy hand 
4* 



50 TEGUMSEH. 

For life, and all life could command, 

I would not clasp it, stained and red 

With life-blood from my parents shed r 

Wretch ! — should 1 to such baseness turn, 

My heart would through my bosom burn ! 

An orphan 1 — Murderer ! who so well 

As thou this saddest truth could tell 1 

Thy love and— life 1 — 'T were curst, the lot * 

'Tis life to be where thou art not ! 

Thee or the grave 1 — ^I 'd rather wed 

Pale Death, and sleep among the dead, 

Than in thy guilt take such a part ! 

Go ! — burdened with thy own black heart ! 

My brother — parents — they are blest ; 

Oh ! were I with them and at rest !" 



Her bare right arm uplifted high, 

All light her large and glowing eye, 

And her whole frame dilated — fired — 

She looked the Pythoness inspired ; 

Nor one rude warrior there^ but gazed 

In admiration — wrapt — amazed. 

De Vere, thus baffled, taunted, spurned, 

Love, scorn, to livid fury turned : 

" My love, my mercy thus defy 1 

Chief ! she is thine — and let her die !"— 

One swarthy hand a hatchet grasped. 

And one in savage triumph clasped 

The maiden's arm — when, slow from pain, 

The aged Shawnee rose again : 

" Ken-hat-ta-wa is great and wise ; 

But let him look vv ith open eyes. 

The brave Tecumseh's words were good : 

" One league for terror, strife and blood 

Must all our far-spread tribes unite ; 

Then shall the pale-face sink to night,. 



TECUMSEH, 51 

Nor one on earth remain to say, 

While lonely wandering, — 'where are theyV " 

But not by single captives slain 

Seek we our country to regain ; 

Nor thus the white-man's sleep awake, 

Ere all the gathered tempest break. 
Brothers — ray words with you remain." 

XIX. 

A murmur of applause went round. 
The chieftain caught the ominous sound, 
Then, not as for his own dark plan. 
But for the red-man's wrongs, began, 
And strove to charm their native sense 
With artful words of eloquence. 
" Brothers — is not our vision clear ? 
Lo ! let us speak of things that were. 
Time was, the red-man's race was strong : 
In love and peace they dwelt along 
The great salt-waters : all the day 
They chased upon the hills their prey. 
And o'er the plains — or through the streams 
The sweet fish caught ; and in their dreams 
The Great Manitto by them stood. 
And told them to be just and good. 
Then were the red-men happy — then 
Lords of the valley, lake and glen. 
Brave in the battle, wise in peace !" 

Watching their gaze grow fixed, intense. 

He urged the tide of eloquence : 
"Why, warriors, do these glories cease 1 
What Indian needs to hear me tell 1 
The white man came ; we loved him well ; 
We gave him food, we gave him fire, 
Skins, shelter, all he could require. 
'Twas not enough. They wanted more : 
We shrank their deadly arms before j 



52 ♦ TECUMSEH. 

They followed us like hungry hounds ; 
They drove us from our hunting grounds — 
Not unresisting ! No ! — we bled, 
Till with our blood the streams ran red !" 

XX. 

Fierce, glowing, grew each warrior's eye, 
Each grasped his knife convulsively — 
" Where red- men, are your fathers' graves 1 
They lie within a land of slaves ! 
Far in the east our race begun : 
Still flee we towards the setting sun 1 
No ! Let our vengeance roll its tide 
And whelm them on their heights of pride ! 
Nor wait we till the cunning foe 
Our counsels, plans and movements know : 
The war-cry raised — the hatchet red — 
Dark thousands will the war-path tread. 
A victim, lo ! before your eyes : 
'Tis A-re-ous-ki's sacrifice ! 
We'll slay her to our warrior-god — 
We'll dye our hands — we'll drink her blood — 
Then on our foes in terror swoop. 
And send to heaven the appalling — whoop !" 



Starting the well known sound to hear — 
That sound of wrath, revenge and fear — 
The whole wild throng tumultuous rose, 
With yells of rage and threatened blows ; 
Knives, hatchets gleamed, and war-clubs rung, 
A hundred towards the maiden sprung — 
But suddenly another shout 
Burst from the eager crowd without, 
A cry of victory, which said 
Another captive home was led. 



TECUMS.EH. 

As at a signal of command, 

The weapons sank in every hand ; 

And when Ken-hat-ta-wa was told, 

This captive was the pale-face bold. 

Who sent from out the rock's high breast, 

Oo-loo-ra's spirit to its rest, 

His soul's relentless flame was turned. 

And now for him as fiercely burned. 

He thrust aside the dusky throng. 

He strode its living walls along. 

And, seizing him, with sudden whirl 

Dragged him before the gazing girl. 



One moment met their searching eyes 

Tn the first stillness of surprise ; 

For both were changed, how changed ! by years 

Of toil, and suffering, and tears. 

But recognition burst its shroud, 

As lightning through the summer cloud 

He cast no fearful glance around him. 

He started from the grasp that bound him — 

" O Henry !"— " Mary !"— face to face. 

Bosom to bosom, heart to heart, 
They met in mutual mute embrace, 
Unconscious of the time or place — 

Why should such spirits ever part ? 



Alas ! on earth few part to meet. 

None meet except to part again r 
A few fond moments, O how fleet ! 
Then comes the agony, the pain. 
And this knew they : for in each eye 
They read their fearful destiny, 
To be one moment thus — then sever 
For lingering pain, or instant fate, 



53 



54 TECUMSEH. 

Torn from each other's eyes forever. 

Yet while around was wild debate, 
With angry gestures, hurried breath. 
By what most torturing cruel death 
Should Moray die, all heedless they 
Reclining on the bare earth lay, 

Ev'n at the feet of that stern chief, 
With heart-choked, broken words, and tears — 

Tears of despair, of joy, of grief. 
And most unuttered love, whose years 
Into one burning point were prest. 
As, palely pillowed, on his breast 
Her cold cheek rested — where the kiss 
Might never be repeated — and in rays. 
That trembled dewy through their swimming gaze, 
Their souls were blent. Oh ! agony of bliss ! 
Was ever meeting on the earth like this ! 

XXIV. 

Ken-hat-ta-wa, with furious start, 

Tore their forlorn embrace apart, 

And, turning Moray towards the sun, 

" Is Pale-face," said he, " good to run ]" 

Self-trained in youth and boyish days, 

And after in the perilous ways 

The hunter treads, wild woods among, 

Young Moray was as fleet and strong 

As stag across the plain that bounds. 

When yell behind the eager hounds. 

Deceiving then the cunning foe, 

" My steps," he said, " are weak and slow." 

Those words received th' excited crowd. 

With frantic gestures — shoutings loud ; 

And seizing in their tawny hands 

Knives, hatchets, clubs, or smoking brands, 

They ranged in two long lines, to greet 

With death the captive's faltering feet, 



TECUMSEH. 55 

As tortured demons, grim and fell, 
Conduct a lost soul down to hell. 

XXV. 

As Moray to this fearful pass 

Was hurried forth, the maiden gazed. 

As with a dream she were amazed, 
Or through enchanter's shadowy glass 
All vaguely looked ; and when arose 
Loud whoopings soon, with clanging blows, 
And wild forms rushed before her sight. 

The dews of death sprang fast and chill 

O'er all her frame — her heart grew still — 
She fell to earth, and all was night. 
Oh ! not in vain ! — for else that hour 
Of thought's most agonizing power 
Had driven her reason from its throne, 
Or spirit to the world unknown. 



When posted there, with eagle glance 

The captive saw his only chance 

Of saving life, and, far too wise 

To run, a certain sacrifice. 

The deadly gantlet, quick as light 

From a tall warrior at his right 

He wrenched an axe, with one swift blow 
His huge head clove through bone and brain, 
Then o'er his corse along the plain 

Sped like an arrow from the bow. 

In mute surprise th' expectant foe 

A moment held th' uplifted stroke, 

Then into angry tumult broke. 

A hundred hurtling spears were flung, 

A hundred winged arrows sung, 

A hundred hurled bright hatchets rung — 

But vainly all, — for he had sprung, 



56 



TECUMSEH. 



Like reindeer through the forest dashed-— 
Whereon their missiles idly crashed — 
And onward far and free had striven, 
A cloud before the tempest driven ! 

XXVII. 

The ground, o'er which his course he laid, 

Was at the first a rolling glade, 

With huge and lofty trees o'ergrown, 

Each standing by itself alone, 

While all the intervals between 

Were spread with grassy carpet green. 

Where, in the distance wending wide, 

The desert's browsing herds were spied. 

Past this, beneath the glare of day 

A rugged, brambly barren lay. 

Of narrower space ; and then the vast, 

Th' illimitable, gray and waste, 

That prairie, on whose verge extreme. 

Far, far beyond the utmost sight. 
That mound arose in noontide gleam. 

Which greeted first the morning's light. 

XXVIII. 

On, on he flew, death in the rear, 
And winged at once by hope and fear, 
While whooping in his frighted ear 

As fast the foe pursued ; 
For life, for life he strove in pain, 
Revenge, their lost revenge to gain, 
They urged the maddening chase amain 

Far through th' extended wood. 
As passed the strange confounded flight, 
The wild-deer started with affright. 
The wild-bull tossed his shaggy head 
And through the forest bellowing fled. 
The tameless steeds^ with trampling tread. 



TECUMSEH. 57 



Approached, wheeled, snorted in amaze, 
And turned, and turned again, to gaze ; 
While objects all in mingled throng, 
As Moray breathless flew along. 
So dim and quickly passed his eye, 
As vanished scenes do hurry by 
The eyes of crazed memory ! 



He cleared the wood, he trode the plain, 
He heeded not the constant pain 
Of feet by stones, and creeping thorn. 
And roots, and straggling briers, torn. 
But forward stretched before the wind 
Of swift pursuit that swept behind. 
And now he reached the prairie's edge ; 
The wild-grass, faded flowers and sedge 
Were waving tangled, thick and high. 
Wherever roamed his straining eye. 
He could not turn, he might not sta}'", 
He must its unknown depths essay. 
With headlong leap he sprung and urged. 
Beneath its billowy surface merged. 
His struggling footsteps blindly on — 
How hardly may his race be won ! 
With yell and rout, like wintry storm. 
Rushed after many a dusky form. 
Vindictive, nearest of the near, 
The Ottowa with his ashen spear : 
^or wilder chase was e'er beheld, 
As dark above the surface, swelled 
By passing breeze, with angry cries 
A thousand tufted heads would rise, 
By spring and bound, then at a breath 
Sink momently unseen beneath. 
A toilsome mile is left behind, 
More freshly breathes the autumn wind — 
5 



58 TECUMSEH. 

Pause ! — pause ! — what roar, of tempest-sound, 
Convulses air and shakes the ground 1 
Full well the Indians knew, and back 
With speed the rest retraced their track ; 
But still the chief would urge the chase, 
O'ertake the victim's slackening pace 
With red-hand vengeance, then retreat ; 
And Moray still his toiling feet 
Pressed on, though in amaze and fear — 
Undoubted death was in the rear I 

XXX. 

He reached a swell — amazement grew 
Ten-fold before th' appalling view. 
The prairie was on fire ! Afar, 
With semblance of destroying war, 
In army widening as it came, 
On strode the vast, consuming flame. 
A league away, and on each hand 
Beyond the utmost ken, and fanned 
By swift hot airs, in massive sweep 
The lofty columns, red and deep. 
Wide-waving rushed — with furnace-glare 
Wreathing their spiral arms in air. 
Or bending to the earth ; and, where 
The withered grass was serer grown. 
Long lines ran forth and blazed alone ; 
And ever flames, like steeds of fire, 
Did mount and lift them high and higher. 
Fast — fast they came ! The earth before 
Was swept with a continuous roar, 
That filled all heaven ; above them high 
Glowed tremulous the heated sky. 
As one great furnace, where, upsent, 
Flaked cinders strewed the firmament ; 
But ne'er was seen their fearful track, 
How waste, and desolate, and black. 



TECUMSEH. 50 

For, all behind, in billows broke, 
Convulsed and rolled, a sea of smoke. 
And — lo ! what darkly heaving mass 
Confused before the fires doth pass 1 
Enormous herd ! Unconscious caught 
By some green course, with terror fraught, 
Th' unwieldly bisons, driven along, 
Heaved, pitched the grassy swells among. 
Like huge, black creatures of the sea, 
With bellowings of mad agony, 
That rose above the roaring flame : 
Right towards that rising ground they came, 
In heedless course and headlong ! — Where 
Shall Moray fly in this despair 1 



Less merciful the savage foe, 
Than fire or furious buffalo. 
Aslant he fled, if so he might 
Escape the vast herds' frantic flight. 
Brief time he strove, he sprang, he flew, 
When lo ! so near their breath he drew, 
With shaggy bulk, and tumbling leap. 
And foamy mouth, and bellowings deep, 
And eye that glowed, and tossing head, 
On — on they plunged, their myriad-tread 
Trampling the earth with thunder ! Fast 
Still Moray fled, this peril past : — 
The flames were near — he felt their breath — 
He stood their lurid ranks beneath — 
He saw them tread the quivering reeds 
In wrath, and rise, like warrior-steeds. 
To whelm him down : — he looked — how near 
Ken-hat-ta-wa's brandished, fatal spear ! 
No more — he turned his blinded gaze, 
And rushed into the glaring blaze. 



60 TECUMSEH. 

The spear sang past him through the fire, 

And, yelling in his baffled ire. 

The chief pursued with maddened mind, 

While closed the dark-red walls behind. 

Scorched by the flames through which he broke, 

With ashes smothered, wrapped in smoke. 

And treading, every step he took. 

With bleeding bare feet's blistering soles 

O'er burning roots and glowing coals. 

The weary captive staggered on, 

Nor knew what way his course might run, 

Till all the blackened air and ground 

Spun like a mighty whirlpool round. 

When suddenly he faltered — fell — 

What passed beside he might not tell. 

XXXII. 

He woke — what were they 1 Dungeon bars, 
Through which looked down the silent stars 
And calmly smiled at him ] — In pain 
Of throbbing eyes and dizzy brain, 
And limbs that hardly might be raised, 
He half arose and round him gazed. 
It was a pit, deep, damp and round, 
Beneath the prairie's level ground. 
Wherein the greener grass that grew. 
And reeds, yet moist with rain or dew, 
Were scathed not by the fiery scourge 
That rolled above its rapid surge, 
And, bending o'er his helpless trance. 
Had veiled him from the savage glance. 
He breathed a prayer, and climbing thence. 
Strove to awake each deadened sense. 
Some stars were on the cloudless sky, 
The moon was riding pale and high, 
And looked with that most tranquil mien 
Upon how desolate a scene ! 



TECXJMSEH. 

As when the orbed Earth is burned, 

Some wandering spirit, back returned, 

Beneath lone Luna's waning ray 

May all the wasted world survey, 

Throughout whose prospect still and wide 

No living thing shall be descried. 

Beast, bird, nor flower, nor waving tree, 

But all of bare, bleak lava be. 

Spread dark, or glittering ghastly-bright : 

So Moray in that silent light 

Beheld, where'er he turned his eyes. 

No shrub nor plant nor leaf arise, 

Nor reed that quivered in the air. 

But all was cold and black and bare ; 

Save in the North a distant glare 

Upon the heavens was redly cast, 

Where the far-marching flames were passed, 

Blent with their blue in fearful hues sublime. 

Like the last burnings of the sphere of Time ! 



And she, who on the cold earth fell, 
What of her must the minstrel tell 1 
When all the men had joined the chase, 

The Indian maidens gathered round. 
And, gazing on her pale fair face. 

They pitying raised her from the ground. 
And laid her in a wigwam near, 

Beneath the sunlight's glancing beams ; 
Then, half in wonder, half in fear. 
They bent above her deeply sleeping — 

Her spirit in the land of dreams — 
And wiped her cheek still wet with weeping, 
And fondly strove to waken her 
With touches soft and lightest stir, 
And musical and gentle words. 
Like the first notes of early birds, 
5* 



61 



62 TECUMSEH. 

Calling her there the " Moon's pale daughter"- 
" Snow-bom"— the " Lily-of-the- Water !" 
"Awake," they said, " Oh ! back return. 

Sweet spirit, from the Dreamy Land ! 
Thou mayst not meet those shapes that mourn, 

Nor clasp yon shadowy hand ! 
They wait for thee in th' Islands Bright — 

They call — yet haste not now away ! 
Leave not the air and Earth's glad light — 

Awake — return — we pray !" 
'Twas vain. All hushed the maiden lay, 

Nor once unclosed her shrouded eye, 
While cloudy tremors lightly play 

O'er pallid breast and forehead high, 

As shadows o'er the moon-lit sky. 
The only signs that life was left 
To her of all but life bereft. 



While thus she slept and they stood round, 
With whoop, and yell, and maniac bound. 
And breasts, where ten-fold fury burned. 
The baffled Indians back returned. 
They burst into that gentle throng — 
They drowned their low and chaunted song- 
They broke the maiden's painful sleep. 
And, hurrying her with curses deep. 
Fast bound her to the Tree of Death, 
Whose thunder-smitten arms were bare, 
Nor wooed, through all the tardy year, 
Or vernal sun or summer's breath. 
While, ghastly painted, o'er the whole 
Where shapes to scare the victim's soul. 
That so much beauty thus should die 
Drew ev'n from base De Vere a sigh : 
His heart — the hard and black with sin — 
Grew sick, and sank his breast within — 



TECUMSEH. OS* 

Nay, still, though scorned, within him dwelt 
The love which he had truly felt. 
He flew to her : " O God ! Yet flee, 
Poor girl, this fearful destiny !" 
She spoke not — but her flash of scorn 
Through all his inmost soul was borne. 
" Then die !" he cried, with madness tost. 
And from that hour his soul was lost. 

XXXV. 

And now the warriors' dusky ring 

With spears, and flint-tipt shafts to wing, 

And glittering tomahawks to hurl, 

Encircleth far the speechless girl : 

Was e'er so fair a mark to try 

Their cruel, cool dexterity ! 

An arrow flew, that, quivering by, 

Brushed the long lashes of her eye ; 

A javelin sung — like beam of light 

It bore within her arm its flight, 

And trembled by her bosom bare ; 

A hatchet gleamed — it grazed her cheek, 
Cut the dark ringlets of her hair, 

Then, like a guilty thing, did seek 
To hide it in that withered trunk : 
Yet never once she quailed or shrunk, 
Nor did a pang pass through her heart 
From cherished life so soon to part, 
For, learning Moray still was free. 
Love's joy had conquered agony ! 
With folded hands across her breast, 
She looked up to her place of rest ; 
And as the sun's descending blaze 
Lit up her face with seraph rays. 
Which else had looked too sad for Heaven, 
She seemed of those, to whom 'tis given 



64 TECUMSEH. 

To wander by celestial streams — 
We see such beings in our dreams 1 

XXXVI. 

Still were the skilful weapons cast, 
And every moment seemed her last, 
But, fierce for death so long delayed, 
The chieftain rushed upon the maid, 
As if she were his deadliest foe : 
" Oo-loo-ra," cried he, " bids thee go ! 
He heaved his war-club o'er her head, 
He swung it back to strike her dead — 
Like whirlwind from the mountain-cloud. 
A warrior burst that savage crowd. 
The huge club from the Ottowa wrung, 
And hurled it o'er the astonished throng, 
Then stood a moment stern and high, 
Glancing around indignantly : 
And ere they from their wonder woke, 
Tecumseh thus the stillness broke. 



" What mean ye thus ] Is this array 

Against an armed foe to-day 7 

Or are ye — mighty warriors ! — drawn 

Like wolves against one timid fawn 1 — 

Brothers — where hath your wisdom flown ? 

For what can this pale flower atone ] 

For loss of that broad heritage 

Our fathers owned from age to age 1 

For broken faith ] for scorn of slaves ? 

For exile from our fathers' graves 1 

For added wrongs— derided pain] 

For blood of red-men spilt like rain 7 

For injuries of many years. 

Stored in our hearts too deep for tears 'i 



TECUMSEH. 65 



Can women, maids and captives make 
Atonement for a nation's sake ? 
No ! warriors, no ! our wrongs require 
A vengeance mightier, nobler, higher ! 
She hath not wronged us — 'tis her race : 
On them the storm shall fall apace ! 
But, know, our fathers' sons must be 
From blood of girls and captives free, 
Nor by a rash and useless deed 
Bring war before the hour of need. 
The Ottowa, too, is brave and strong : 
But better had he wait, and stay 
The battle's tide, than ruthless slay 
A bird, that never did him wrong !" 
Thus ended he, and cut her bands, 
Nor any stayed the warrior's hands. 



"With tempest-brow, and fiery eye. 

And words by haughty anger brief, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa made fierce reply : 

" And what art thou, usurping chief, 
That thou arraignest deeds of mine, 
Or speak'st of wide and high design 
To one of Pontiac's matchless line, 
Famed further back than thou canst trace 
The fathers of thy craven race 1 — 
Or durst a captive take away, 
Whom his vindictive hand would slay ? 
My father, many a winter gone, 

His death-wound from her father met ; 
Her lover slew my father's son — 

Can e'er the Indian's heart forget? 
Thou think'st of vengeance — so do I — 
But half revenge is misery ! 
I hate a white man ! I would sheathe 
My thirsting knife in all that breathe ! 



66 TECUMSEH. 

But, since thou lov*st the maid so well, 
Let Pale-flower in thy wigwam dwell. 
That thine may be degenerate sons, 
More friendly to the pale-faced ones 
Than were thy fathers. She no more, 
By night or day, on lake or shore, 
May fear Ken-hat-ta-wa. But vain 
Is now our league — ^the broken chain 
Shall never bind us more : — and when 
I, with my chiefs and mighty men. 
Have helped to sweep from off the earth 
This pallid foe — Fear's coward birth — 
Then shall Tecumseh's head incur 
The vengeance that was meant for her !' 



He turned and waved his swarthy hand, 
At whose mute call the Ottowa band 
Ranged lowering round on either side. 
Alike defying and defied. 
Then with a quick but measured tread. 
Nor ever turning once the head, 
They strode along the green-wood glade 
Soon lost in night's descending shade. 
Tecumseh, deigning no reply. 
Except a calm and scornful eye. 
Assuaged the wo-worn captive's fears 
And, heart-pleased by her grateful tears, 
He bade she should till morning rest. 
The Shawnee maidens' cherished gu^st, 
Then with a band of warriors move 
Unto his brother's camp above, 
Whence more secure she might be sent 
Back to the white-man's settlement. 
And to her home beloved, if home she had- 
Alas ! that home were desolate and sad ! 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO THIRD. 



Where beats the Patriot's heart 1 Oh ! not alone 
Behind the corselet and the blazoned shield, 
Throbbing at once for freedom and renown, 
Soon hushed forever on the gory field. 
Nor yet where Science and Religion wield 
Sceptres of light its only pulsings press. 
With touch of fire. By peasant's garb concealed, 
Or 'neath the savage bosom's wild-skin dress, 
Barbarian born, full oft its throbs are numberless. 

And he, th' untutored Indian, whose feet 
Once roamed, by lake and stream, this broad, fair land, 
Hath oft within him felt his full heart beat. 
He saw strange barks their eagle wings expand. 
He hailed the strangers with an outstretched hand : — 
Too late, alas ! th' illusion left his eyes ! 
Once deemed divine, he saw them now demand 
His ancient heritage — too dear a prize ! — 
And on his fathers' graves lie saw their dwelhngs rise. 



68 TECUMSEH. 

He saw — but wept not. In his burning heart 
There lived a deep remembrance of the wrong ; 
And often to the battle would he start, 
And bleed and die those cherished graves among. 
How can the weak hold combat with the strong 1 
The white-man's arms th' unequal strife have won ; 
Ere many years, O mightier Child of Song, 
Thou 'It ask, with mournful voice, the setting sun, 
" Where are thy children ?" — " Lo ! like mine, their race 



Tecumseh stood by his father's grave. 
The noon-tide's deep, ethereal wave 
Rolled tremulous o'er as lone a spot, 
As where were ever the dead forgot, 
By the ancient sweep of the first-born river, 
The Father of Waters, that brings his tide 
From a thousand springs on either side. 
And rolls it a thousand leagues forever. — 
" But why, old man, of the forest green 
A rover that much hast suffered and seen, 
Say, why was the chief, once mighty in war, 
Thus laid from the tombs of his fathers afar V 

n. 

" Stranger — there are who think and write 
The Indian's soul untouched with light, 
And that to him belongs the guilt 
For all the blood his hand hath spilt : 
But surely, if their feet had strayed, 

Like mine, his friendly homes among, 
They would have known, God never made 
A heart all darkness, and — how long 
The savage bore aggressive wrong. 
Old Logan was the white-man's friend ; 
But injuries forced his love to end. 



TECUMSEH. 

Of children, wife, and kindred shorn. 
None left for him to joy or mourn, 
He rose in calm, vindictive ire 
Beside his nation's council-fire, 
And bade them, by their fathers slain, 
No more in voiceless peace remain. 
But lift the brand and battle-cry 
For vengeance, if not victory. 

III. 

" Rang the loud v^^ar-whoop. On the side 

Of wild Kenhawa, where his tide 

Beats back Ohio's massy wave, 

A thousand warriors, strong and brave — 

Of many tribes the chosen pride — 

A thousand fearless foes defied. 

From breaking morn till gathering night, 

An Autumn day, was urged the fight : 

The bloody field at set of sun 

Virginia's deadly rifles won : 

By dell and plain, by hill and shore. 

They darkly fell to rise no more. 

'Twas there the Shawnee chieftain found 

His last sleep on the gory ground ; 

And near the wave his tomb was made, 

Leaf-strown, within the silent shade. 



" There oft, as boyhood sprung to youth, 
And drank their souls the bitter truth. 
Learned even upon their mother's breast, 
That ever towards the darkening West 
Their race was fading like a cloud. 
The chieftain's sons, in sadness bowed. 
With low voice as the passing air. 

Would talk of things that once had been- 
Where once the Indian's dwellings were, 
6 



70 TECUMSEH. 

How changed was now the lovely scene ; 
And o'er the yet untrampled grave 
They vowed to stay th' encroaching wave, 
And by the voice, and by the hand. 
Reclaim, restore, their native land. 



" Yet ever on they saw it haste 

And leave, unto their eyes, a waste, 

Howe'er sweet fields might smile in bloom, 

Where brooded once the forest's gloom. 

Strange vessels vexed the clear, blue waters, 

The wild-flowers grew for pale-browed daughters ; 

Nay, from their homes, no warning given, 

With steel and flame their tribe was driven, 

And rude hands felled the trees that rose 

Around their sire's so still repose. 

Then from his rest the mouldered chief, 

In silence and in tearless grief. 

Beyond their tribe's new home they bore 

To Mississippi's lonely shore, 

And, with an oath returnless, swore, 

The stranger's feet should ne'er go by 

That sacred grave, that rolling flood, 
Till all the red-man's race should lie 

Past sorrow on the field of blood." 



No sculptured marble rose in pride 

To tell a name, which else had died, 

Or speak of virtues seen by none, 

Till on the cold memorial-stone ; 

But reared on gently rising ground. 

With time-worn, massive trees around, 

Some loose heaped, wordless stones were seen, 

With reverend moss grown thick and green, 

To mark the silent resting-place 



TECUMSEH. 71 

Of him, once mightiest of his race. 
And through the leaves of varied change 
There fell all colors, rich and strange, 
On those columnar trunks sublime. 

And o'er the chieftain's mossy tomb, 
As through some abbey of olden time, 

Or a minster, pillared in gothic gloom. 
By its storied windows, religious light 
Falls ever in glorious blendings bright 
O'er the shadowy walls, and the monuments cold 
Enshrining below the mighty of old ; 
And aye the dim aisles and the ambient air 
Were hushed to the holy repose of prayer. 
Or breathed, like the organ's, solemn and dread. 
The wind's low requiem o'er the dead. 
Oh ! e'er if one I love must die. 
Be such the haunt of Memory ; 
For ever he wisheth, who loves the best, 
The loved in the loneliest place should rest, 
That, when by the still mound weepeth he, 
No eye but God's his grief may see ! 

VII. 

Tecumseh stood by his father's grave. 

Whate'er they were, deep musings gave 

To his stern face a saddened look ; 

And oft his bosom heaved, as shook 

By some strong grief ; till, calmer wrought, 

His very life seemed bound in thought, 

As he were sculptured thus, with mind 

To one eternal wo resigned : 

And all unbidden fell fast tears. 

As if the streams, restrained for years, 

Had burst their fringed barriers o'er, 

As pent brooks through the willowy shore. 

If any eye had in that hour 

Of feeling's over-mastering power 



72 TECUMSEH. 

Upon him looked, he had not shown 
Such weakness — there 'twas all his own. 



He knelt beside the mouldering earth, 
From which had sprung his living birth : 
" O Spirit of my sire ! if e'er, 

Leaving thy blissful dwelling-place, 
Leaving the dance and bounding chase, 
Thy once-loved form thou comest near — 
Oh ! now be hope and counsel won, 
Thou spirit, for my father's son ! 
How changed the red-man's good estate, 
How wronged we are, how desolate. 
Thou knowst — and lo ! thy dust is laid, 
Not where thy fathers' graves were made ! 
How wise, how brave, how good thou wert ! 
Be such my tongue, my hand, my heart. 
That I by speech and deeds may be 
Their vengeance, fame, and destiny- 
My path is lonely. Let me find 
Thy voice upon the sighing wind ! 
Oh ! in the hour of dreams appear. 
And steel my soul to change and fear !" 



Arose he ; charioted on high 

The day-god drew his thoughtful eye. 

" In glorious strength thou run'st thy race, 

O Sun !" he cried, "and to thy place 

Returnest back, the same for aye ! 

But when our race is run, our day 

Shall never come again. Restore 

Thy favor, ere we be no more ; 

But may pale Winter's children base 

Be snow before thy burning face ! 

—But Thou, by whom all things have being. 



TECUMSEH. 73 

Earth, Sun, and skies — unseen, all-seeing ! — 

To Thee I pray. Is it that we, 

Great Spirit, have offended thee. 

Few offerings on thine altars laying, 

Against each other ceaseless preying 1 

Then let thy just and terrible wrath 

Send fire, flood, plague, along our path, 

And sweep us from thine angry eye : 

But thus to wander hopelessly. 

All unavenged, the stranger's scorn — 

Ah ! graat that this no more be borne ! 

Let not the feet that know no rest 

Rove to our Islands of the Blest ! 

Thou knowst I go. My soul inspire, 

And on my lips put living fire ; 

That wheresoe'er our fading race 

Have made themselves a dwelling-place, 

My words may bind th' avenging chain. 

Till, ?n as one, in blood-blent rain 

They wash the wrongs, by which no more 

Are we as were our sires of yore !" 



Then from that forest tomb he passed. 
Nor once a look behind him cast ; 
Stemmed with strong arm the swelling tide, 
Plunged through the tangled forests wide. 
Where scarce a beam of lightsome day 
Across his trackless course might stray. 
And sought undaunted, lone and far. 
The dwellings of the Western Star. 

O wildly-wandering stream ! great birth 
Art thou, Missouri, of the Earth, 
That roamest in thy sullen mood. 
With wailing surge and tireless flood. 
Through forest gloom and day- light glare, 
Through wilds, or Hesperus' gardens fair, 
6* 



74 TECXJMSEH. 



Farther than any else is borne 

Since Time first rolled the circling year, 
A seventh of all, from morn to morn, 

That rounds the old diurnal sphere, 
Ay, haste, returnless tide !— thy grave 
Is ready for thee in the ocean wave ! 



And all along Missouri's shores, 
Till Konzas his dark tribute pours. 
And farther yet, vi^here Platte still brings 
Wide offerings from his thousand springs. 
And — countless reared from varied base, 
Memorials of a vanished race — 
Old mounds arise, dwelt, fiery-souled, 
Brave tribes, as Nature uncontrolled. 
Twas theirs to go and come at will, 
Chance fruits to eat and drink the rill. 
To chase the game through pathless wood 
Or track the flying feet of blood. 
To shift, so slight their rude abodes, 
From place to place their household gods, 
To live and die in tameless pride, 
Ev'n as their fathers lived and died : 
For they not yet, so far removed, 
The stranger's fatal gifts had proved. 
That, from his nobler nature weaned, 
But make the savage all a fiend. 



Tecumseh in their midst appeared 

And by their counsel-fires was heard. 

Siones, of fierce, forbidding gaze, 

Saucs, Foxes, restless I-o-ways, 

O-toes and roving O-ma-has, 

And Weas, and wild Peorias, 

Were thrilled through utmost soul and sense. 

As, with a mournful eloquence, 



TECTJMSEH. 75 

He told of mighty tribes that reared 
Their wigwams once by eastern waves, 

But now, where they had disappeared, 
Remained but violated graves — 

Then, with the voice of clarion, bade 

Themselves in battle be arrayed ; 

For better, crushed by trampling Fate, 

Than exiled, scorned and desolate. 

He passed — but still their souls were stirred, 

As hearing still each earnest word, 

And armed its might each warrior hand, 

To strive for their beloved land. 



No rest was his. With tireless pace 
Towards the far south he turned his face, 
To pass by woods and prairies wild. 
With their own solitude beguiled ; 
By plains, where, since the birth of things. 
Gray Time hath waved his weary wings 
Through silence vast ; by lonely streams 
More mighty than of old the themes 
Of mightiest bards — Euphrates, held 
Most ancient of the floods of Eld, 
By primal Eden — Nilus hoar, 
Far honored with his mystic lore — 
Hydaspes of the fabled shore — 
Indus, that barred the conquering bands, 
Or Ganges of the golden sands. 
No compass with its quivering ray 
Was guide upon his pathless way ; 
But journeying sun, and moving stars. 
Seen glimmering through the forest spars, 
Or green and gray moss, ages grown 
On rock or tree or boulder-stone. 
Declared his course, by day and night, 
Directer than the arrow's flight. 



76 TECUMSEH. 



XIV. 



And ever, as he onward pressed, 

What were the thoughts within his breast 1 

Oh ! not of festive offerings, burned 

For royal exile back returned — 

Not of triumphal arches, reared 

For crimsoned conqueror hailed and feared — 

Not of rejoicing garlands, strown 

Round feet that mount th' unlineal throne 

With steps of blood — Oh ! not renown, 

Made great by nations trodden down, 

While Valor's hand forgets to save, 

And Virtue weeps o'er Freedom's grave ! 

But as, by day, with equal haste, 

Forest and solitary waste 

He traversed o'er, and by the sweep 

Of eldest rivers, calm and deep 

And wider grew his soul within. 

With vastness of each silent scene : 

And when beneath the solemn shade 

Of night and starry skies, that made 

The solitude more lone, his way 

He urged untired, or listening lay 

In wakeful rest, the moaning flood, 

The winds, that stirred the mighty wood, 

Were voices from the Spirit-shore, 

That he their once-loved homes restore ; 

And, where were bent — above — around — 

O'er plains without a visible bound. 

The eternal heavens, his thoughts would stray 

To their bright worlds — away — away — 

And drank a spirit more divine, 

And grandeur, to his great design 

From their far presence. On his soul, 

Successive, glorious visions roll — 

The red-men leagued, the strife begun, 



77 



• "TECUMSEH. 

In terror towards the rising sun 

Th' invader driven, the beams at last 

Of peace upon his country cast, 

And he proclaimed by reverent Fame 

The one — the great — th' undying name, 

While future distant tribes should come 

To look upon Tecumseh's tomb. 
Be these forbid, he cannot fail of all — 
Still his are vengeance and a hero's fall ; 
And thus to die he rudely deems to be 
Praise on th' Immortal Shores, immortally ! 

XV. 

So crossed he nameless streams, that bear 

Their breasts through scenery stern or fair, 

To meet Missouri's deep embrace. 

The wandering Kick-a-poe-an race, 

The Shew-an-nas by Konzas' tide, 

Thp Osages, that dwell beside 

Arkansas' mountain-fostered pride, 

Qua-paws, of spirit fierce and wild, 

As ever fired the Desert's child — 

To these he told the same sad story 

Of present woes — of ancient glory. 

They heard : strange thoughts their souls possessed, 

A fire was kindled in each breast, 

And often in their troubled rest 

Dark dreams of vengeance came : 
They heard the yell and battle-cry. 
Saw knives and hatchets gleaming high, 
And maidens pale and women fly 

From dwellings wrapt in flame ; 
And in the chase they wandered o'er 
The grounds their kindred roamed of yore. 



78 ' TECUMSEH. 



XVI. 



Through hoary woods and solemn wastes, 
Hoarse-dashing, aye unwearied hastes 
The great Arkansas — gloomy river. 
Borne on in wildered dream forever ! 
Along its course Tecumseh passed. 
Whether he toils through lowlands, massed 
With vegetation rank and vast. 
Whereof th' enormous trees are wound, 
O'er trunk and limb, around and round. 
With monstrous vines, whose serpent-folds 
Strangle their giant life ; or holds 
A rapid course, with freer feet, 
Where elk and wild-deer bounded fleet, 
O'er open plains ; or ruined steep 
Ascending, sees the landscape sleep. 
Stream, prairie, hill and forest deep. 
In beauty of a thousand lights ; 
Or from the loftier azure heights 
Of Ozark's mountain-range, surveys 
The whole strange world beneath his gaze — 
Still on his silent way he pressed. 
With thoughts, as steps, that would not rest. 

XVII. 

Again with dauntless stroke he clave 

The Mississippi's turbid wave. 

There, first, where Yazoo's waters rise. 

And Tennessee's green valley lies. 

And Cumberlands' dark hills appear. 

Did Chick-a-saws their wigwams rear ; 

And next them, on the south away, 

The Choctaws' ancient nation lay ; 

While, east, where breathe the sea-born gales 

O'er Alabama's lucid fountains. 
And blue skies canopy the vales 



TECtJ3ISEH. 79 

Of Alleghanian crested mountains, 
The Cherokees' more gentle race 
Had made their hearts a dwelling place ; 
And far below them were the graves 
Of Creeks by Chat-ta-hoo-chee's waves. 
These were their homes — but now no more ! 
Their day of power and pride is o'er : 
They urge the chase, where other skies 
Are spread, and other hills arise ; 
And only may in memory mourn 
The scenes to which they ne'er return. 
They rest, as witheringly they die. 
Not where their kindred's ashes lie ! 
To these with hand, and eye, and tongue. 
The chief spoke earnestly and long — 
In tones, now low and sorrowful. 
Now Ocean's voice that awes the soul — 
Till calmly they no longer heard. 
But rose, like waves by tempest stirred. 
And swore to him, their strife and hate 
Should yield to change, nor time, nor Fate. 
And well 'twas seen their hearts had not 
His burning words, their vows, forgot. 
In after years, by midnight cries. 
By blazing roofs and lighted skies, 
By children slain and mothers shrieking, 
And warm blood on the hatchet reeking 

XVIII. 

Great gulf ! thy mighty waters be 
A marvel and a mystery 
From eldest time ; whose billows, tost 
A thousand miles from coast to coast. 
Forth from thy bosom, send a tide, 
A thousand leagues the waves to ride, 
Unbroken by the huge commotion 
Of warring winds and rolling Ocean ! 



80 TECUMSEH. 

There roved the Seminoles in hordes, 

As tempests free, the tameless lords 

Of wilderness and green morass, 

Where no pursuer's foot may pass. 

Wilds barred his way, and torrents roared ; 

Yet in their ears Tecumseh poured 

Th' unwritten wrongs of many years. 

And coming ills, and hopes, and fears. 

The chief departed as he came ; 

But, thrilling still each savage frame, 

The tones that urged the glowing theme 

Remained, like voices of a dream ; 

Nor would the scenes he painted pass. 

As visions of the wizard's glass 

Will linger still before the eye. 

Shadows of musing Memory. 

Though then the fiery oath went round, 

The fruits in later days are found. 

In Os-ce-o-la's liquid name. 

Enrolled on mournful lists of fame 

By struggles long and treacherous death. 

Whose soul brooked not the dungeon's breath 

And in that fierce strife, yet unended. 

Among their wild haunts thus defended. 



Then towards the distant West again 
He bent his steps by wood and plain. 
Where, from the far high mountains borne. 
As seeking her lost home, forlorn 
The Ruby Flood through desert shores 
Her joyless, weltering course explores. 
The wild Ca-man-ches there bestride 
Wild steeds, and to the battle ride 

Without or bit or spur ; 
And there the Ki-o-ways, that make 
The path of war for slaughter's sake, 



TECUMSEH. 91 

The swift revenge incur. 
To them in warning strains he told 
Of other tribes, as strong and bold, 
Beneath the rising sun of old, 

That now no longer were : 
His words through all their bosoms melt, 

Their savage souls are saddened, fired, 
And grasp their hands the bloody belt, 

As A-re-ous-ki's self inspired. 

XX. 

Now high through Aries' golden sign. 
Towards the bright Bull, with face divine, 
Rolled the fair sun ; and northern spring 
Might greet the chieftain's wandering. 
Then coasted he those herbless plains, 
That bloom not to the vernal rains. 

Nor smiling skies, nor genial air — 
Bounded by lofty mountain-chains. 

The desolate and bare. 
He roused among their savage dens 
The desert-haunting, fleet Chayennes, 
He kindled with the electric cause 
Ventrese, and brave Missourias, 
And Konzas, where they darkly bide 
Their own beloved stream beside ; 
Then on, where Platte in grandeur roams. 
He sought the Pawnees' shifting homes. 
Fast mounted on their tameless steeds, 
Such as the native desert breeds. 
With fearless souls and lawless hands 
As rovers of Zahara's sands. 
And ranging wide the prairie plains 
For flying game or predal gains, 
Obeying each his heart's behest — 
These were the Arabs of the West : 
7 



82 TECUMSEH. 

And these he bade — so fierce their mood — 
" Haste, hasten to the feast of blood !" 



Thence on he pressed, till saw his eyes 

The Black Hills' sable heads arise. 
With glittering caps of snow, 

And frowning battlements and towers, 

Like those of ancient feudal powers, 

That mocked war and the wasting hours, 
When blow was given for blow. 

No Indian by their base that strays. 

Could e'er on them a moment gaze. 

Except with awe and silent fear ; 
For the rebounding echoes loud, 
That break from out their shadowy shroud. 

Seem spirit-voices to their ear ; 

And there the Genii of the storms 

Enrobe in clouds their giant forms. 

And far beyond them might be seen, 

Through the pure air of those bright skies, 
The Chip-pe-wy-an mountains rise. 

Unto the Indian's mind the screen 

Of realms beyond, mysterious, strange. 

Wherein the blessed spirits range 

Their glorious clime — the vast " world's crest"- 

Wa-kon-dah's awful place of rest. 

Well may he deem them such to be, 

For there they stand eternally, 

O'ergazing earth, and calmly mock 

The hand of Time, the tempest's shock. 

And with a granite chain of rock 

Bind half the world — from pole to pole 
Stretched in their stern and silent pride. 
While, baffled, hoarse on either side 

Two mighty oceans roll. 



TECUMSEH. 83 



There, first, th' Ar-rep-a-has were found 
Upon the desert's utmost bound ; 
Above, the simple cabins rose 

Of Poncas on the Running Water, 
And Staetons where its fountain flows, 

And O-gal-lal-lahs, red with slaughter ; 
Still further up, the Shennes behold 

At sunset o'er their streams and rills, 
And round their quiet wigwams rolled, 
Blent with purpureal hues of gold. 

The shadows of the ancient hills ; 
And higher yet, between their chain 
And broad Missouri's old domain, 
A-rick-a-ras and Mandans reared 
Their dwellings, far and widely feared ; 
While, last, beyond the Sable Heights, 
Where, fleckered with the northern lights, 
Missouri's gelid tributes run, 
Min-net-rees hail the cheerful sun. 
To each and all the wanderer spoke 
Words, tones, that in their souls awoke 
Sorrow, and joy, and memory, 
And thoughts of glorious things to be ; 
Till round their council-fires they swore 
Each other's homes to waste no more. 
But whelm in death the Sons of Fear 

Like whirlwind and the storm, 
Or by his broken bow and spear 

Lie low each warrior form. 



From these, unresting still, he passed, 
To seek along the lowan waste 
The various predatory clans 
Of Sioux, and ruthless I-o-tans ; 



84 TECTJMSEH. 

Paused with a gladdened ear and eye, 
Yet darkened heart, he knew not why. 
To see the young leaves, soft and fair. 
Come forth to sunlight and the air. 
To hear the birds their warbling make, 
By lone Itaska's lovely lake, 
Whence, bosomed in the woody earth, 
The Father of Waters hath his birth ; 
Then hasted, for the coming hour 
To win that old and fearless power. 
The Chip-pe-was, revered and wise. 
That dwell, where vast Superior lies, 
Reflecting to the heavens above 
Their own eternity of love : 
On these, as all, the wizard's spell 
Of eloquence resistless fell. 

XXIV. 

Tecumseh trode along the shore, 
And heard the all-pervading roar 
Go up to heaven, while sun-set skies 
Shed o'er the wave their magic dies. 
Then fell gray shadows ; one by one. 
With calm and sleepless eyes looked down 
Th' angelic stars : his soul was bright. 
But sad, with their immortal light. 
At last, with weariness oppressed. 
And thought, he laid him down to rest 
Beside the billows : slumber stole 
With visions to his troubled soul. 
The sounds of dashing waters near 
Confusedly mingled in his ear. 
He seemed, at first, in frailest bark 
Borne over billows, wild and dark. 
Far towards some high and rocky coast. 
Whereon eternal surge was tost. 
Then changed the dream. He was a boy 



TECUMSEH. 85 

Once more, of childish grief and joy, 

Beside Scioto's pleasant stream : 

He saw his mother's soft eyes beam 

Upon him, while her gentle tongue 

Was earnest with the red-man's wrong. 

The dream was changed. Around him spread 

A field of blood, with countless dead, 

Pale-face and Indian, crashed and rent, 

In undistinguished carnage blent ; 

And there his dusky braves were flying, 

And he, their chief, in death was lying. 

These vanished. In the Spirit-boat 

O'er waters blue he seemed to float. 

Towards isles — how glorious to the sight, 

Bathed in so soft and strange a light ! — 

Along whose shores of shadowy green 

All fair and lovely things were seen, 

Maids, fruits and flowers, and varied game ; 

Ev'n to the glittering strand he came, ' 

Where waited him the loved, the brave, 

When — lo ! they faded : — calm and grave, 

In loneliest depths of solemn wood 

His chieftain-sire beside him stood. 



'Twas not the warrior form of old 
With fiery eye and features bold. 
But shrunk and of a mournful cast. 
As who through pain and death had passed. 
" Tecumseh is the Shawnee's son" 
All hollowly a voice begun : 
" His part full nobly hath he done. 
Go boldly on : the war-bands lead. 
Go — like your fathers, fight and bleed : 
Shades of the red-men bid ye speed. 
Be nerved each hand, each heart preparedr 
Spare not who ne'er the Indian spared. 
7* 



86 TECUMSEH. 

The strife will soon be o'er — and thou 

Must be, as is thy father now. 

But thee the Blessed Isles await. 

And Time shall make thy memory great." — 

" But, tell me, by the spirits blest ! 

My father, where shall victory resti" 

The figure waved its sad adieu, 

And vanished from Tecumseh's view. 

He woke — he gazed on every side, 

If yet the form might be descried. 

The waves dashed high — the stars still shone- 

No streaks proclaimed the coming sun — 

But sleep for him was not. In haste 

He rose — his robe around him cast — 

And sought the tribes, that loved the gleam 

Of white St. Mary's foamy stream, 

Or dwelt blue Huron's deep beside, 

Or Michigan's mysterious tide : — 

But evermore was doubt the guest 

Of his desponding, hoping breast. 



Such league Tecumseh strove to bind, 
A wanderer with the wave and wind : 
Return we now to Autumn pale, 
And thence resume the storied tale. — 
Back, from the mound's gray monument 
Of years unknown, the Prophet went 
To Wabash banks above, whereon 
By wonder, spoils or vengeance, won, 
From varied tribes a gathered crowd 
Were to his wily visions bowed. 
Mighty the seer : chill, silent fear 
Fell like a shadow far and near 
From his dark presence, and his word 
In pale obedience was heard. 
But he, who e'er the crowd hath ruled, 



TECUMSEH. 87 

Hath learned by sad experience schooled, 
The voice may wake the tempest's hour, 
That o'er its fury hath no power. 
By his own fiendish orgies fired, 
By his prophetic words inspired, 
He found his motley followers wrought 
To phrenzy past the sway of thought, 
From hut to hut, with clang and tramp, 
Arming their rage through all the camp. 
In ambushed strife to slay a band 
Of friendly troops, now near at hand. 
From such a course, full well he knew. 
Might ruin to the cause ensue. 
Resolved their rash attempts to stay. 
And thus Tecumseh's words obey. 
He bade them at the hour of night 
The wakeful fire of council fight. 



Without their camp aspired the blaze : 
Tall trees stood round, that seemed to raise 
Their forms as giant guardians, set 
For them in secret council met ; 
In groups the Indians sat beneath, 
Conversing low, v/ith hurried breath 
And gestures wild, while redly glared 
O'er features fierce and bosoms bared, 
And on the hoar trunks rising high. 
And fitful o'er the clouded sky. 
The writhing flames, that rose in air 
As they would drink the darkness there : 
And ever swept, aloft or near, 
A thousand shadowy shapes of fear. 
Such forms as seem to Phrenzy's brain 
Sent from the abodes of sleepless pain. 
With stealthy step and piercing gaze. 
That bore a soul upon its rays, 



88 TECUMSEH. 

And robed in mystic, strange attire, 

The Prophet sat him near the fire, 

And on the red light bent his eyes, 

As reading there deep destinies. 

Each whisper hushed, no sound was heard, 

But crackling flames, and tree tops stirred 

By the strong wind ; and none could brook 

Upon the seer of Fate to look — 

Save him who feared nor man nor Fate, 

Ken-hat-ta-wa, the child of Hate 

And fiery Scorn ; and with him one, 

A chieftain of the Hurons known, 

Oneirah, to the seer a name 

Of odious sound, who scorned his claim 

To be Manitto's voice, or see 

The things of shut futurity. 



His wild skin mantle round him flung, 
He rose at last with artful tongue. 
And thus dissuasive words began : 
" Who the Great Spirit's power may scan 1 
His awful form the tempest shrouds — 
His voice resounds among the clouds — 
He rides the blast — He walks the deep — 
He robes him on the mountains steep — 
Darkness is his — from age to age 
The wide heavens are bis heritage. 
Brothers, receive his words to mind : 
His prophet heard them in the wind. 
The pale-face comes : but ye must now 
Nor raise the whoop nor bend the bow. 
No, warriors — let them sleep, and yet 
Dream that the red men's hearts forget ! 
We must be strong — they then shall feel 
The torturing brand, the rending steel. 
Tecumseh — " up the Ottowa sprung^ 



TECUMSEH. 89 

The hard earth with his war-club rung, 
The high flames flushed his swarthy frowns : 
" Who here such craven counsel owns 1 
Ho ! warriors, hear your sapient seer ! 
Once hath he told you nought to fear, 
For that the great Manitto's arm 
Would shield the Indian's life from harm 1 
And bids he now, keep still, be wise, 
When foes insult our very eyes 1 
We will not ! Let the war begin — 
Tribes from afar will hasten in. 
Who follows Hate, Revenge and me, 
To-morrow's night his deeds shall see !" 

XXIX. 

Burst forth around from group to group. 

As ended he, a smothered whoop. 

The Prophet heard— he knew that hour 

The crisis of his crafty power ; 

And near he saw Oneirah's eye 

Gleaming with scorn triumphantly. 

Then flamed his soul : yet ne'er he dared 

The Ottowas' powerful chieftain beard — 

But for the Huron — Slow his hand 

He waved, with conscious, calm command, 

Then with a soft, low accent spoke : 

" The Prophet's word is never broke. 

No, warriors — ye might falter not 

For steed, or sword, or shivering shot, 

But that," — his voice still lower fell. 

And glanced his eye its withering spell — 

" But that the death-defeating charm 

A sorcerer's power doth here disarm !" 

" Who 1 who ]" the breathless throng exclaimed. 

Each fearing lest himself be named. 

The Prophet eyed Oneirah nigh : 

" What dost thou here, thou wizard spy V* 



90 TECUMSEH. 

" And who," he answered, " hinders me 
From being where I choose to be ? 
Thou lying seer ! when hast thou learnt 
Thy witches have not all been burnt 1" 
" But thou of late,^^ the Prophet cried, 
" The white man's cursed arts hast plied ; 
And now thou com'st with witcheries fraught, 
That all our plans may come to naught. — 
Ho ! let the spy, the wizard, burn ! 
So shall the powerful charm return !" 



To execute the mandate fell, 

A hundred sprung with sudden yell. 

The foremost came — with lightning start, 

Oneirah's knife was in his heart — 

A second — third — by hatchet, crashed. 

Through skull and brain, to earth was dashed- 

A fourth th' uplifted arm had sent 

To shades of death, but, backward bent 

By numbers to the bloody ground. 

The Huron's hands were strongly bound. 

Within the fire a stake was driven. 

The chief, who had so vainly striven, 

Was chained thereto — fresh fuel piled — 

And soon the flames rose wreathing wild, 

Spreading the dark with fiercer glare. 

As at the gusts their volumes flare. 



The circling fire his body wreathed. 
And in his face all hotly breathed. 
And on each manly sinew fed, 
And streamed in spires above his head 
Yet never once a muscle stirred. 
Nor ever cry or groan was heard. 
But proudly gazed he round, and sung 



TECUMSEH. 91 

His death-song with unfaltering tongue, 

Telling the deeds a warrior's son 

Had in the rolling battle done, 

And naming those among the train. 

Whose kindred by his hand were slain, 

And bidding them, with taunts, draw nigh 

And see a Huron chieftain die. 

All fiercely crowd around, and strive, 

Who best shall torture him alive — 

Except, Ken-hat-ta-wa with his band 

Disdainfully at distance stand ; 

But in the shadow of a tree 

A boyish youth stood silently, 

In whose soft face, yet dauntless mien, 

Oneirah's lineaments were seen. 

Some tears were in his flashing eyes, 

That viewed the cruel sacrifice. 

But on his quivering lip there lay 

Resolve against a coming day ; 

And as the eyes of son and sire 

Met darkly through the lurid fire. 

The meaning glance through all his breast 

Kindled a flame might know no rest. 

XXXII. 

Nor was the seer with this content ; 

But lest their fiery faith relent, 

He flung strong earths upon the pyre, 

Wherewith the mad flames mounted higher, 

Writhing, reaching, crackling, turning, 

With all fearful colors burning. 

" See !" he cried, " the awful sign 

Of his deadly arts malign ! 

Haste ye now, around, around — 

Soon our charm shall be unbound !" 

" Wolf ! thou liest !" Oneirah cried ; 

" Cowards, slaves, ye are defied !" 



•<^' 



92 TECUMSEH. 

The strange lights flashed athwart the sky, 
The tree-tops battling clashed on high, 
Winds swept along with wail and groan, 
Grim clouds beset the struggling moon, 
And round the blazing chief the throng, 
With stoop and whirling, danced and swung 
While, as the dizzy circle ran. 
Such fiendish chant the seer began, 
Whose choral notes his followers sang. 
With yellings, till the wild woods rang. 

XXXIII. 

CHANT. 

Prophet. 

" Spirit of Fire ! ascend, ascend ; 
Let the wicked wizard end ! 
Creep through every secret part, 
Feed upon his traitor heart. 
In his mouth, and through his lungs, 
Dart around thy serpent tongues, 
Round each limb the sinews burn. 
Let each bone to cinders turn, 
Search his body through and through. 
On the wind his ashes strew : — 
Nothing evil can abide thee. 
Nought remains, that e'er defied thee !" 

All 

" Heh ! heh-heh ! — he burns ! he burns ! — 

Spirit of Fire ! ascend, ascend ; 

Let the wicked wizard end ! 

Haste we all around, around — 

Soon our charm shall be unbound." — 

" Cravens — see a warrior die !" 

Rose the Huron's latest cry. 



TECUMSEH. 

Prophet 

" Spirit of 111, that mak'st thy haunt 
In this wretch — avaunt ! avaunt ! 
See — the Spirit from him flies 
In the colored flames that rise ! 
Charms of his accursed art 
Do those lurid hues impart : 
Bitter roots that coldly grow 
In the sunless marshes low, 
Fiery herbs of sultry clime, 
Vines besmeared with lizard's slime, 
Charming serpents' rattling scales, 
Eyes of owl and mad dog's nails, 
Venom of the gilded snake, 
Hatched within the poisonous brake. 
Fog-fed toad-stools, rankly bred 
When the cheerful sun was dead, 
Viper's eggs and adder's brood, 
Wild gourds steeped in infant's blood, 
Medicines of hidden worth, 
Dug from out the secret earth^- 
These made up the powerful charm 
All our great designs to harm." 

All. 

"Heh ! heh-heh! he burns ! he burns !- 
Spirit of Fire ! ascend, ascend ; 
Let the wicked wizard end ! 
Haste we all, around, around- 
Soon our charm shall be unbound." 

Prophet. 

" Now the wizard spy hath died. 
Searched throughout and purified. 
Lo ! the glittering frame-work stands, 
With its white and bony hands, 
8 



94 TECUMSEH. 

Ribs of all their covering reft, 
Yet in ghastly order left, 
Fleshless feet, that shall no more 
Tread the plains or Huron's shore 
Not a nerve within it strung, 
Nor a drop its joints among. 
Line upon its visage bare, 
On its skull a single hair. 
While behold 1 each eyeless hole 
Gloweth like a burning coal ! 
Such his body ! — but his spirit 
Glorious rest shall ne'er inherit, 
Driven to wander from the isles 
Of Manitto's blessed smiles !" 



Sudden the ashy brands upon 
Sank down the crumbling skeleton. 
Their wild song ceased — " Tis over now'' 
Exclaimed the seer : " th' oppressive foe 
To-morrow's night shall deal in vain 
The blow that gives nor check nor pain ; 
For lo ! my charm has now returned, 
Since thus Oneirah's power is burned — 
That sorcerer— that traitor spy !" — 
" You lie ! you know it is a lie !" 
The Huron boy, at last o'erborne 
With grief and agony and scorn, 
In anguish cried, and with his might 
A hatchet hurled, like gleam of light. 
Close by the seer the weapon sung— 
His agile form the Huron flung 
Into the dark, while, where he passed? 
Were hundred missiles hurtling cast, 
And angry warriors followed fast. 
With whoop and yell, that rose or fell, 
As swept the chase by hill or dell. 



TECUMSEH. 95 



Ere died the uproar on the ear, 

There drew that scene of terror near 

Another group — that little train, 

Wherewith unto her home again 

Tecumseh would the maid restore, 

Saved but her sorrows to deplore. 

Less faded was that heavenly eye. 

As now upon her misery 

Some hope had dawned ; yet was it fraught 

With ever sad and sleepless thought — 

The soul of grief ; nor yet one hue 

That cheek of placid paleness knew. 

So oft her eyes his face had seen. 

Death bore a most familiar mien ; 

Yet shook her bosom, and her tread 

Faltered, when near the Prophet led, 

Of whom had fearful rumors come 

Even to her secluded home. 

The leader of the trembling maid 

Delivered what Tecumseh bade ; 

Ere Els-kwa-ta-wa gave reply. 

Forth from the throng De Vere came nigh, 

And told in whispers, forward bent, 

Should presents to the seer be sent. 

And, from beyond the waters wide, 

Be arms and various aids supplied, 

So he might bear the girl away. 

To love or hate, to save or slay. 

With joy he heard : across his mind , 

Like thronging clouds before the wind, 

Dark visions passed — the war-path trod. 

Battle, and flame, and fields of blood. 

But artfully to both at once 

The guileful Prophet made response : 



96 TECUMSEH. 

" 'Tis well — and on her homeward track 
Our brother, Vere, shall guard her back." 

XXXVI. 

Then turned De Vere : " Fair maid, thou knowst 

How kindly — but I will not boast : 

1 am thy guide ! — now learn with cost 

That gentle love should not be crost !" 

He seized her arm — the savage throng 

Pressed grimly round — ^the poor girl flung 

Her frail form down, and trembling clung 

To Els-kwa-ta-wa's feet — her hair 

Sweeping the earth so cold and bare, 

While, where the bitter tears fell fast, 

Upon her face was palely cast 

The dying brands* unsteady light. 

'• Oh ! rather," gasped she, "slay me quite, 

Than make my guide yon artful one. 

Who hath such cruel murder done !" 

But in that breast no pity dwelt — 

He raised the maid, that lowly knelt : 

" The Pale-face loves her — do not fear" 

He said, and gave her to De Vere. 

XXXVII. 

But instant, with one angry stride, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa stood by her side, 
Hurled back De Vere with dizzy whirl, 
And laid upon the shrinking girl 
His hand, more gently than he wont, 
While on the seer his dusky front 
Frowned darker : " Is it, then, for thee 
To sell the captive, torn from me 1 
If I have sworn to harm no more 
This pale-faced maid by wave or shore. 
But make Tecumseh bear the hate, 
Unchanged, of Pontiac's son and Fate — 



TECUMSEH. 97 

Wretch ! shalt thou yield her up, to be 
Burdened with scorn and misery 1 
No ! cherished by me from this hour 
Shall be this bruised and faded flower, 
To share in peace, by Huron's water, 
The wigwam of the Ottowa's daughter ; 
That never he, while suns shall set, 
Tecumseh and revenge forget. 
Ay ! start — and rouse thy menial band — 
They dare not raise one craven hand ! 
False fool ! — 'tis not the Ottowa's turn. 
Like yon brave Huron chief to burn, 
Who died as thou knowst not to die !" — 
Then turned he to the warriors nigh : 
" Your seer can talk — to-morrow's night 
/ lead ye to the groaning fight !" 

XXXVIII. 

Then with his band, that round him throng, 
Bearing the speechless girl along, 
He plunged the forest shades among ; 
While for a moment, through the rift 
Of clouds that ever darkening drift, 
The pale moon shed her quivering beams 
Upon the fire-brands' smoky gleams, 
And silvered o'er the bones that lay 
Disjointed in the ashes gray. 



8* 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO FOURTH. 



O War ! thou stern joy of the human race — 
Though crushing them where'er thy footsteps go — 
Thou art not glorious, but a murderer base, 
And bear'st the stamp upon thy bloody brow. 
And this too dearly by their woes they know. 
That westward lived in that most gloomy hour, 
When England strove th' unconquered strength to bow 
Of this young realm by her age-honored power : — 
No more may such contend, since neither knows to cower ! 

But soiled, O Albion, was thy starry name, 
By Indian warfare striving to prevail. 
When oft from dwellings wrapt in midnight flame 
None, none escaped to tell the mournful tale ; 
When fathers feared the whoop on every gale. 
And mothers clasped their babes as it drew nigh ; 
And maidens in their dreaming sleep turned pale. 
Or started from their couch all tremblingly, 
And ever passed grim Death before each anxious eye. 



100 TECUMSEK. 

Then honor be to them that freely rose, 
With self-devotion for their native land, 
Encountering savage wrath or foreign foes, 
With heart undaunted and unfaltering hand. 
'Twas not for fame they took their fatal stand — 
Though some in part, perchance, such visions moved, 
For Glory beckoneth with enchantress' wand — 
But they were fighting for the homes they loved : 
With mournful faith, alas ! their firm-fixed love they proved ! 

Nor less to him, th' unsullied chief, be given. 
Who led them on to victory and the grave. 
Charged with his office from the courts of Heaven, 
By soul-born impulse to arise and save. 
The beautiful and weak create the brave : 
Frail trembling thousands on that soul relied, 
To v/hich their very trust its ardor gave ; 
And Wabash waves, and Maumee's moaning tide. 
And Thames dark-rushing, tell his name while they abide. 

The storm swept by, and Peace, with soft fair fingers. 
Folded the banners of red-handed War : 
Where broad Ohio's bending beauty lingers, 
The chief reposed beneath the evening star. 
Calm was the life he led, till, near and far, 
The breath of millions bore his name along. 
Through praise and censure and continuous jar : — 
But lo ! the Capitol's rejoicing throng ! 
And envoys from all lands approach with greeting tongue ! 

The moon rose round above th' Atlantic main. 
When that proud pageant passed to mortal sight ; 
And when, alas ! her splendor waned again. 
His transient glory faded like her light ! — 

empress of the star-loved realm of night, 

1 see thee shine o'er mountain, vale, and stream, 



TECUMSEH. 



101 



For thou couldst then resume thy heauty bright ; 
But never more upon this land shall beam 
His mild and honored sway — departed like a dream ! 

To own the morals of the olden school, 
To be true-hearted and of soul sincere, 
To bear down vice, yet with paternal rule, 
To nurse no hatred and to feel no fear, 
To raise the fallen and the faint to cheer. 
And be the soldier's and the orphan's stay — 
These are the virtues that his name endear. — 
The world is cliange ! Time verges to decay, 
And all things good, but Heaven, must fail and pass away ! 

But long as on Ohio's coursing wave 
Is borne one freeman towards the glowing West, 
His eye and tongue, above the chieftain's grave. 
Shall hail the marble honors of his rest ! 
And long as Dian lifts her waning crest 
Where Liberty yet holds what she hath won, 
A pensive thought shall haunt the patriot's breast 
Of him, whose reign in her brief year was done, 
And from his heart shall rise the name of Harrison. 



When, waked to sense of fiery pain, 
That throbbing ran from foot to brain, 
Upon the burnt and blackened plain 
Stood Moray, what resolves possessed, 
What thoughts the chambers of his breast 1 
Pleading with many a tear and sigh, 
Love urged him back again to fly. 
And perish for the gentle one, 
Who thus for him had surely done. 
But well he knew, it would but be 
To die with her — though thus to flee 



102 TECUMSEH. 

The ills of earth were happier lot, 

Than life with tears where she is not : 

But hope was his to win and bless 

The sweet rose of the wilderness ; 

For Heaven, he deemed, would save from slaughter 

The beauty of its loveliest daughter. 

So he should speed him, martial bands 

Might rescue her from savage hands. 



Though sorrowing every step to part 

From her, the star-light of his heart, 

He turned with aching limbs at last. 

And o'er the desolate prairie passed, 

Through deep-scorched roots and ashes gray, 

Where joylessly the moon-beams lay. 

Till after many a weary mile 

He saw them on the forest smile, 

And, entering, sought where Wabash laves 

Vincennes the old, with loitering waves. 

III. 

But long those martial bands had all 
Departed at their country's call. 
The lover paused not. Ever thence 
Treading the shadow of Suspense, 
The army's toilsome course he traced. 
Through withered wilds, in weary haste. 
Two days and nights had thus been spent, 
As up the winding shore he went, 
When, as the sun, all red and round. 
Was sinking low, he heard a sound, 
A human voice of plaintive waij, 
And, turning, saw, in darkling vale. 
An Indian female feebly bending. 
As if some faintest trail attending. 



TECUMSEH. 103 

With cautious step and curious ear, 
He stole him down, and listened near. 

IV. 

" He was and is not !" — thus the plaint 

Ran mourningly, but low and faint. 

" Where art thou 1 — Perished is my joy ! 

What wrong couldst thou have done, my boy ? 

How could they slay both son and sire ! 

Wither the hand that lit the fire ! 

And be they cursed, the wolfish brood, 

That chased the scent of boyish blood !" — 

Her tender, touching notes of wo 

Drew Moray near, her grief to know : 

" What seeks my mother 1 Is she left 

Of all her bosom's hope bereft]" 

"I call — he comes not !" answered she, 

And raised her dark eyes wistfully : 

" They burned the tree, the vine that held — 

Then by its side the sapling felled. 

How cruel were they ! — See, the sun 

Is sinking — for his race is run : 

But ah ! my boy had just begun 

To bear him like a warrior born, 

And lo ! he sinks in early morn. 

How kind was he ! how swift ! how brave ! 

The summer rill — the winter wave — 

And now" — She bent her face again. 

And scrutinized with anxious pain 

Each crimsoned foot-print : " Would," she said, 

" For thee, my son, that I had bled ! 

I shall hear voices — but not thine — 

And light will on my wigwam shine. 

But not thine eyes — my child ! — my child !" — 

A low groan rose — with accents wild, 

Down a deep glen the mother darted. 

That from the vale transversely parted. 



104 TECUMSEH. 

And soon, with tears of grief and love, 
Knelt down the bleeding boy above. 



Beside a tree the Huron lay. 
Full slowly ebbed his life away, 
For many a wound to him took wing, 
But none that reached the vital spring ; 
Yet thence so free the blood had flown — 
Escaped by darkness, weak and lone, 
So long a way his feet had gone. 
Seeking his mother's home, that now 
He was with faintness drooping low. 
Blood on his soft cheek, gashed and rent. 
Was with unwonted paleness blent ; 
Around his frame a cold dew hung ; 
The raven locks all damply clung 
To his brown forehead ; mists of death 
He drew with every thickening breath. 
And gathered o'er his eyes' wild light 
The shadows of their coming night. 

VI. 

" My mother !" with a feeble cry. 

While joy relumed his fading eye. 

The youth exclaimed : — " I thought no more 

To see or hear thee ! — To the shore 

Of spirits brave and blest I go — 

But," added he distinctly low, 

With earnest meaning, '< dost thou know. 

My father's gone before !" 
" I know, my child — I sought the spot. 
There — ashes — bones — but he was not ! 
I covered them in secret place, 
Then followed sad thy bloody trace." — 
*' I perish, mother !— promise me, 
My sire's remains with mine may be — 



1 



TECUMSEH. 105 

Not here within a Wabash grave, 

But by blue Huron's sounding wave, 

Where once we dwelt — I hear it still !" — 

" Nay, live, 0-wa-o-la, and fill 

Thy soul with vengeance!" — Fainter grew 

The boy, and feebler breathings drew : 

But Moray to a fountain, heaped 

With dead leaves, bore him thence, and steeped 

His brow with coolness, and distilled 

Upon each feverish wound, till, filled 

With life's fresh balm, he looked and smiled. 

" See," Moray said — " my feet have toiled 

O'er many a hill and plain, nor dare 

To linger long ; yet will 1 bear 

The Huron to his mother's home." 

He raised and, through the gathering gloom, 

Bore him a forest league, till rose 

Their wigwam in its lone repose. 

While others distantly appeared, 

A Huron village rudely reared. 

VII. 

On his low couch the boy he laid, 
Then hastily a farewell bade. 
The mother's gratitude was tears — 
That purest in our mortal years ; 
But Moray's hand the Huron took. 
While all his fevered bosom shook, 
And, pointing towards the murky west, 
Where sank the ruby sun to rest. 
And east, where on the verge of night 
The waning meek moon rose to sight — 
" My heart," he said, " was faint and sad ; 
The Pale-face came and made it glad. 
The moon may change — the sun may set — 
0-wa-o-la will ne'er forget !" 
9 



106 TECUMSES. 



VIII. 



Departing thence, through half the night, 
And morn's less spiritual light, 
The lover sought the armed force, 
Where'er they made their bending course. 
At last he saw their banners streaming, 
And bright arms through the gray wood gleaming. 
As wound they on their guarded way, 
Through Autumn's sorrowful decay. 
By fallen tree, by rock and rill. 
Nature around was hushed and still — 
Silence of grief ! — but, low and dead. 
Leaves rustled 'neath the soldier's tread, 
While over them hoar trees on high 
Their pale arms lifted wearily, 
As if in sad, unbreathing prayer 
For them, so senseless, slumbering there. 
On each gray trunk the white moss clung — 
Wild vines their withered garlands hung 
From bough to bough— from his dim throne 
Gazed sickliest, through the smoky air, 
The regal sun — all things did wear 
The cast of palsied age, and aye 
Sighed the low wind with sorrowing tone, 
As for decaying Nature mourning, 
And o'er high hearts — the brave — the gay — 
Beating with hope on Fame's bright way — 
No more — no more returning ! 

IX. 

And ever as they passed along, 
Glancing the forest forms among, 
And peering forth from shady screen, 
In rugged dell or deep ravine. 
Fierce, dusky visages were seen, 



TECUMSEH. 

And eagle eyes with threatening glance 
Would watch their hostile arras advance. 
In vain the snowy flag, displayed, 

Was waved, the sign of friendly greeting ; 
Only mute menaces were made 

By each dark form retreating ; 
Nor any words could say so well, 
What rarely would the red-man tell. 
That lasting hate and strife must be 
Their heritage and destiny. 



"And if thou canst," young Moray said. 

With manly words and few, intent 
To seem in pity asking aid. 

Though cheek and eye were eloquent 
With Love's own language from the heart- 
" And if thou canst — nay ! tears will start 
That one so gentle and so fair. 
Less child of earth than form of air, 
Should thus a life of suffering live 
Even in her youth — but wilt thou give — 
I know 'twill not enlarge thy claim 
To goodness and an honored name — 
Yet grant a rescuing hand, to save 
An orphan from an early grave — 
If still she live — ah ! much I fear 
She claims but memory and a tear !" 



Even as he spoke, and pressed the hand 
That waved along that gallant band, 
With haughtiest step, but friendly signs, 
A chief approached the moving lines, 
The stateliest of the stately three, 
Sent on an artful embassy, 



107 



108 TECUMSEH. 

The Indians* fierce designs to cloak. 

" Our brother"— thus Ken-hat-ta-wa spoke — 

" Is welcome to the red-man's home : 

But wherefore do his warriors come "? 

Listens the Eagle's ear to words 

Of croaking crow, or singing birds, 

That he hath urged his flight so far 

To dye his wings in bloody war 1 

Brother — see'st thou with darkening pace 

Yon cloud pass o'er the sun's bright face 1 

Let not a cloud of war arise 

To hide from all his children's eyes. 

Whose hearts his friendly look inspires, 

Our father of the Seventeen Fires. 

Brother — few nights ago was brought 

A pale-flower to our camp : some sought 

To slay the girl, for red-men slain : 

Their hands were stayed, lest blood should stain 

The belt of friendship. — Brother, hear : 

This night encamp thy warriors near — 

At morn we'll pass the pipe of peace, 

And to thy hands the maid release." 

XII. 

As spake the chief of captive maid, 

The lover gazed his looks to read. 

If she, so near restored, might prove 

The Mary of his heart of love. 

From that unchanging face of stone 

No ray of recognition shone ; 

But, glancing Moray's features o'er. 

As if they ne'er were seen before. 

Though all his vengeful breast was flame, 

He parted calmly as he came. 

Then Moray, cheered, yet half forlorn, 

Resolved to wait the coming morn : — 

" But be what must — ^my heart be brave ! 



TECUMSEH. 109 

Love lives, though Hope and Beauty die ; 
In the forest far I'll seek her grave, 
And lay me where her ashes lie." 



The camp was pitched — a goodly place. 

Level and high, an open space 

Lay sheer low prairies between 

Of marshes wild, wherein were seen 

Pale autumn flowers and oziers green, 

Last lingerers of the faded year. 

With tall grass mingled, coarse and sere, 

And yellow reeds, and rushes dry, 

Scarce shook beneath the hazy sky. 

And close behind, along the edge. 

Through tangled roots, and scattered sedge, 

And drooping willows, ran a stream. 

Twinkling with blue and smoky gleam, 

And slumbering on its mazy round, 

Lulled by its own unceasing sound. 

Before, at distance, lay in sight 

The wigwam city, on a height. 

That looked, with its discolored crown, 

O'er the wild Wabash hurrying down ; 

And all around were forests bare, 

Unmoving in the sluggish air. 

The camp is pitched — the guards are set — 

The soldiers round their fires are met, 

And gory-red the struggling sun 

Sinks down his forest-couch upon, 

With dun clouds closed before — 
Ah ! may he be no type of those, 
That, girt with strange and treacherous foes, 
May sink in blood and mortal throes, 

With death-shades shadowed o'er ! 
9* 



110 TECUMSEH. 



'Twas the middle watch from the midnight hour, 

When things of evil have mightiest power, 

Ere the winged coursers of coming light 

O'ertake the journeying car of night. 

Aloft hung the moon— but her face was veiled 

By the huge, thick clouds, that gloomily sailed. 

Like a pirate squadron, with streamers black 

Bearing terror and death on their ocean track ; 

And the creeping mists hung heavy and chill 

O'er the wide-spread moor and the rolling hill. 

But lofty and bright blazed each red fire. 

Piercing the dark with its pointed spire. 

As if on its glittering wings it would rise 

To its kindred stars through the murky skies : 

And, clad all in arms, in the shifting play 

Of the wavy flames each warrior lay. 

While over his face the light and shade 

Of changing dreams would quicken and fade. 

Pleasing or sad, as in each brave heart 

Trembled sun-beams of joy, or grief's keen dart. 

There were visions of home, and love's fond gaze. 

And remembered pleasures of other days ; 

There were forms departed — and tombs — and tears — 

And sorrows of present and former years. 

Oh ! never the mind can escape from the scene 

Of the things that are, or the things that have been ; 

For, when sleep hath beguiled from the toils that have 

bound us, 
They come in the visions that nightly surrounds us ; 
And knowledge, enstamped on its memory. 
Is a part of its immortality. 
Oh ! never the human heart hath rest. 
Till its pulsings are hushed in the earth's cold breast ! 



TECUMSEH. 



XV. 



Ill 



Upon the farthest verge there shone 
One watch-fire, sleepless and alone. 
There, wrapped in soldier's mantle rude, 
Musing, as if in solitude 
Of desert waste or boundless wood, 
Sat Moray. — Pallid Grief may sleep, 
But lonely Love its watch will keep ! — 
He gazed upon the flame's bright glare, 

He gazed upon the watery moon, 
He listened to the moaning air. 

And to the brook's low tune : — 
Wo to his heart ! it would not rest, 
Though with a weight of fear oppressed ! 



Yet round him, half reclined the while, 
Were comrades, studious to beguile 
Night's numbered moments to the last 
With memories of the haunted past. 
Full many a tale of love was told. 
And many a deed of hunter bold. 
With legends of the gloomy years 
Hesperia lay in blood and tears. 
While strange and fearful things were done, 
And fields of death were redly won : — 
Yet rose and sunk his silent breast, 
With thoughts but to itself confessed. 



" Come, rouse thee, man — why not be gay 1 
Come, sing a song or roundelay. 

The tardy time to kiJl ; 
There is no hour by night or day, 
In storm or sunshine, but we may 

Be merry, if we will." 



112 TECUMSEH. 

Thus spoke the reckless voice of one 
To Moray's wondering childhood known, 
Still gay, as when he rushed to die 
For man's best birth-right — liberty. 
Full fain would Moray hide his care, 
And strove to raise the merry air — 
" Oh ! in the bowl we'll drown dull care, 

And think not of the morrow" — 
But her sweet voice from air or earth 
• Reproached him for such heartless mirth ; 
So, murmuring, with a smile and sigh, 
He had forgot the melody. 
The gallant warrior's words he sung. 
That dying lay the dead among, 
When, stayed the fight, th' unbreathing night- 
With many a gazing star was bright. 



THE WORDS OF THE DYING WARRIOR. 

" Fallen I lie on this field red and gory, 

Thousands around me are silent and cold ; 
Brief my existence, but deathless my glory. 

As you, ye bright worlds, that can never grow old. 
Lo ! now I die for thee, 
Heavenly-born Liberty — 
On thy star-dwelling banner my name be enrolled ! 

" Mother, dear mother, the tomb doth enfold thee. 
Yet shall we meet by unperishing springs ! 
Sister, the world — if with frowns it behold thee — 
God will spread o'er thee His cherishing wings ! 
Father — thou near to me 
Slumb'rest, how silently I 
But light to thy spirit immortally clings ! 



TECUMSEH. 113 

" When from thee, dearest, in sadness I parted. 
How thy pale lips faltered, ' must thou be gone ? 
Yet — yet thy country calls !' — O gentle-hearted, 
Thousands are with me — yet I am alone ! 

But my last thought shall be 
Freedom and thee, Mary, 
Where the perished are countless, the living are flown. 

" Stars, gazing down on the dead and the dying, 
Yet with a vision unclouded by tears. 
Soon will my soul, from its dull mansion flying. 
Mix with your brightness, immortal in years. 
Yet shalt thou be, Mary, 
Dearest to memory. 
Mid the music and light of their far-rolling spheres ! 

" Oh ! might thy kiss, pressed in tears and in sorrow, 
Close my cold lips with the seal of thy love. 
How would I welcome Eternity's morrow ! — 

She comes ! — let me clasp thee, thou Death's gentle 
dove! 

Breathe thy sweet voice, Mary ! — 
O cruel phantasy ! 
Can it be but a vision ? — yet meet we above !" 

XIX. 

" Now, why so melancholy mad. 
And make us all as owlets sad 
With woful dole 1 'Twere better far 
Night's drooping moodiness to mar 
With voice of mirth. — O'er half the earth 
Sheer silence reigns, and giveth birth 
To fearful things : to drov7sy rain 

Thickens the misty air apace, 
And gray Time halts. — I '11 raise again. 

If but to shame grim Nature's face, 
The merry song you would forsake, 



114 TECUMSEH. 

And let the scouting red-skins hear, 
If any now are skulking near, 
Their enemies are wide awake !" 



SONG. 

" O in the bowl we '11 drown dull care, 

And think not of the morrow, 
Though death may draw his noiseless bow, 

And point his viewless arrow : 
For we, who follow Fortune's star, 

Fear not the fate before us^ 
So we in joy may still employ 

The moment flying o'er us. 

Chorus. 
" So tip ofT the rosy, my boys, 
Each to the lass he loves best ; 
Let our souls be free as the chainless sea. 
Our hearts like the rocks in its breast ! 

" 'Tis mortals' curse, the present hour 
Must future sadness borrow. 
And golden light of joy to-night 

Become a shade to-morrow ; 
But we will make with rosy wine 

The past and future present, 
And brightly bring eternal spring 
To joy so evanescent ! 

** So tip off the rosy, my boys, &c. 

" Let misers hoard their shining gold. 

Pale watching till the morrow. 
And on his throne the monarch's crown 

Gild o'er the brows of sorrow ; 
But we, who live by bowl and brand. 

The tented field our dwelling, 



TECITMSEH. 115 

Do never miss a present bliss, 
All former bliss excelling ! 

" So tip off the rosy, my boys, &c. 

' We may embrace, with clay-cold hands, 

The couch of Death to-morrow, 
And o'er us haste, when years are past. 

The peasant with his harrow ! 
Yet drink to-night in love and faith — 

If Freedom's danger move us. 
We will lie dead on Glory's bed. 

With Heaven and God above us ! 
So tip off the rosy, my boys, 

Each to the lass he loves best. 
Let our souls be free — O God ! I 'm slain !" — 
The whizzing shot dashed through his brain — 
To earth he fell — uprose the yell. 
As of a thousand fiends of hell — 
Around, beyond th' uncertain sight 
Given by the red flames' dancing light, 
A thousand rifles on the night 

Poured forth their sulphurous breath : 
In haste the doubling drums were beat. 
And hundreds pressed with hurrying feet, 
Roused from their dreams the foe to meet. 
While many, 'neath that leaden sleet. 

Slept on the sleep of death I 

XXI. 

"Arm ! — arm ! — if that ye love your life ! — 

Each soldier to his stand !" — 
Prepared for long and desperate strife. 

They closed on either hand. 
While hastily were covered o'er 

The watch-fires lighting up the scene : — 
The dull brands, hissing in the gore, 

Lay scattered all between ! 



116 TECUMSEH. 

"Upon them now !" a deep voice cried, 
And instant from the darkness wide, 
As Lucifer had led his pride, 
In all Hell's terrors panoplied. 

The Ottowa's war-band sprung — 
" They come ! — stand firm !" — As mountain rock 
Bears up against the tempest's shock. 

Or ocean wildly swung. 
The host abide, in lowering row, 
The onslaught of their savage foe. 
With rifles clubbed, and steely brands. 
Wide wielded in no boyish hands. 

They dashed them down before : — 
Yet wild, with war-club's deadly sweep. 
And knife and hatchet sheathing deep, 
Still, onward, up the slippery steep 

The tide of battle bore. 
On level space, in dreadful close. 
Were mingled soon the struggling foes. 
And whoops and shouts and groans arose, 
And thickly fell the murderous blows. 

And madding Fury raged — 
Backward and forth in tumult driven. 
No mercy asked, no quarter given. 
With clang of arms and echoing heaven. 

The strife was blindly waged ! 
O Hatred and Revenge were there. 
Triumph and Terror and Despair, 

That spoke in every yell ; 
To charge or fly alike were vain — 
They darkly fought- — were darkly slain— 

Yet sternly grappling fell, 
And pierced to heaven the shriek and cry 
Of life's expiring agony ! 



TECUMSEH. 117 



Aloof had stood through all the fight, 
With loose hair streaming on the night, 
And fluttering robes, the haggard Seer, 
Pealing the chant of fate and fear. 

" Warriors — dread ye not the foe ! 

See Manitto's burning eye ! 
His red arm wards their shafts of death — 

They fall !— they die ! 

" Strike — redeem your fathers' graves ! 

Strike — revenge the wrongs of years ! 
Strike for the red-man's failing race — 

They ask not tears !" 

" O Seer, we fall !" a warrior cried— ^ 
" The death-shots are not turned aside !" 
And, at the word, in mingled tide, 

Like waves by sea-beat shore. 
The refluent battle back was poured. 
With hatchet-stroke, and brandished sword. 
And cloven crests, and bosoms gored. 

And rage and wild uproar — 
For Harrison had wheeled to right 
Fresh ranks upon the thickest fight. 

And forced them all before. 
" Fight on ! fight on !" the Prophet cried, 
" The victory shall not be denied. 
— " Great Manitto, thine's the hour ! 

Let thy terrible voice be heard ! — " 
" No heed to him !" the Ottowa yelled, 
" Who dares not lead where men are quelled !- 

" Turn, turn against the foe !" 
And, louder as the war-cry swelled, 

Dark dealing blow for blow, 
10 



4l8 



TECUMSEH. 



O'er the warm heaps of weltering dead 
Ken-hat-ta-wa the onset led. 



Again, as if they could not feel, 
They flung upon the bristling steel 
Their naked breasts — in heaps again 
Were laid to slumber with the slain ; 
Yet dragged down to their bloody rest, 

And throttled in their agony, 
And, stiffening, strained to each stark breast 

Their victors, doomed with them to die. 
Darkness with fearful sounds was rife, 
The axe, the battle-club and knife. 
With bayonet and sv/ord in strife, 

Struggled for life or death ; 
Upon the ashes, drenched and shrunk, 
Sank many a gashed and heaving trunk, 

The keen steel's shuddering sheath, 
And broken skull and scattered brain 
Were mingled in the curdling rain, 

That reddened earth beneath ! 

XXIV. 

Beside a low flame's lingering light, 
Left, in the hurry of the fight, 
Half smothered, Moray's bloody hand 
A moment on his reeking brand 
Leaned wearily. The struggling storm 
Of conflict raged around him still, 
And swelled the Prophet's chanting shrill. 
When suddenly advanced a form 
Athwart his gaze. As if with fear. 
Surprised he started : — " Thee, De Vere 1 
Now where, by Him that rules the sky. 
Is that poor maiden] — Speak or die !" 



TECUMSEH. 119 



« Thee, idiot boy, I do defy ! 
The girl — perchance she hath been torn 
By savage fury — or hath sworn 
To be my fair and loving bride !" 
Calm scorn and irony replied. 
" I tell thee, miscreantr thou hast lied ! 
She never could consent to vow 
Love to so vile a thing as thou ! 
Or in the grave she hath her rest, 
Or in thy wiles ensnared, oppressed, 
Is still thy victim — which her lot, 
For thee, deceiver, matters not!'* 
He raised his bloody falchion high — 
" Talk, boaster, till thou'rt hoarse, but I 
Am given to fighting," cried De Vere, 
And with his angry sword sprang near. 
Then in each other's keen eye glaring. 
And each his right arm sternly baring. 
They knee to knee, and breast to breast, 
Against each other darkly pressed. 



Slight was each form, but of the wild, 
Through weary months, th' adopted child, 
Moray's had more of sinewy power. 
Which well had served him in that hour, 
But that De Vere's time-practised skill 
Could wield his subtle blade at will, 
Which swiftly turned, through all the strife, 
To guard his sacred source of life. 
As at the gate of Paradise 

The flaming sword, that, resting never, 
Flashes before the gazer's eyes. 

Guarding the Tree of Life forever ! 
Ruled by a fierce vindictive ire. 
That shook the frame it should inspire, 



TECUMSEH. 

The avenger's was too rash a hand, 

To cope against the calm command 

Of one, whose hardened heart could rest. 

Like cold steel, in his brazen breast. 

The conflict was not long. A spring, 

A desperate thrust, at last, to fling 

De Vere's base spirit from its throne, 

But all unshielded left bis own. 

The griding sword went through his side, 

And at the rent, with life's quick tide. 

His struggling spirit urged for flight : 

He reeled — he sank — and all was night. 

Still sounded on the battle's din, 

But reached his darkened sense within 

Dim murmurs only, as might seem 

Sounds of some strange, confused dream. 

Then faded all — his fallen form 

Lay senseless mid the hurrying storm. 

Nor aught discerned or ear or eye 

Of Death's hell-hallowed revelry, 

XXVI. 

The strife went on. And now the day 
Began to dawn with misty ray. 
Chasing dun night — but when hath fled 
The night that wraps the slumbering dead !- 
The strife was done. For when the morn. 
With leaden light, was dimly born, 
No more might savage force avail. 
Nor martial art could longer fail. 
The troops, arrayed with gun and blade. 
One swift and fiery onset made ; 
With struggling pace the forest-race 
Fought backward for each vantage-place, 
Till, like a cloud on stormy heaven, 
Into the deep morasses driven, 



TECUMSEH. 121 

They made the wild-wood marshes shield 

Their remnants from the fatal field. 
But ah ! not vainly had they striven ! 
That narrow ground was cumbered o'er 
With heaps of slain, that in their gore 
Lay starkly weltering, or had now 
Grown cold, with pale and changeless brow. 
Many a goodly form was there, 
Once a tender mother's care, 
Shrivelled and burnt and ghastly bare, 
Mid the ashes, shrunk and wet, 
And the fire-brands, smoking yet. 
Clasped within the dusk embrace 
Of the savage face to face : 
Many a noble heart, could thrill 
To martial trump or maiden's trill 
In other days, was hushed and still. 
Not the mould and form had perished^ 
But the vital fire that cherished, 
The deathless,, the ethereal ray. 
Had mingled with the eternal day. 

XXVII. 

O Death ! thou great invisible. 

Pale monarch of the unending Past, 
Who shall thy countless trophies tell. 

Or when shall be the last ! 
By thee high thrones to Earth are flung — 

By thee the sword and sceptre rust — 
By thee the beautiful and young 

Lie mouldering in the dust. 
Into thy cold and faded reign 

All glorious things of earth depart ; 
The fairest forms are early slain. 

And quenched the fiery heart. 
But in yon world thou hast not been 

Where joy can fade nor beauty fall, 
10* 



122 TECUMSEH. 

O mightiest of the things unseen, 
Save ONE that ruleth all ! 



Then dug they in the Earth's dark breast 

A deep and a wide, wide grave, 
And mournfully gathered to their rest 

The noble, the perished brave. 
Some were fallen in youthful years, 
For whom the Muse hath smiles and tears — . 
Tears, that they fell in life's fresh morn, 
Smiles for their glory early born. 
Some were sleeping old, and hoary, 
Save where their aged locks lay gory 
On wrinkled brows — the Muse for them. 
Chanteth a solenjn requiem ! 
And thus they were together laid. 
Within the couch for valor made ; 
And at the muffled drum's dull sound, 
They sorrowfully gathered round. 
Those remnants of that gallant band, 
The stout of heart — the strong of hand ; 
And each did bare his manly brow, 
And bent his head in anguish low. 
And though not many tears were shed. 
Their hearts were with the silent dead. 
A few brief words and a simple prayer 
By the holy man were uttered there ; 
The farewell shot for the fallen brave 
Was fired above their open grave. 
Then each turned slowly, with voice nor breath, 
And left them asleep on the bed of death ! 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO FIFTH. 



Ye that in brooding idlesse chance to trace 
These lingering courses of this idle lay, 
Now with imagined speed pursue apace : 
For where with lagging footsteps, worn and gray, 
Through many a month Time trode his weary way, 
The swift tale flies upon the wings of thought. 
Embracing seasons as a fleeting day. — 
O wondrous power, with God's own mystery fraught, 
To which all time and space are as a thing of naught ! 



O couch ! O feverish couch of pain ! 
Thou tamer of proud hearts ! — how vain, 
With thy unwearied strength to strive. 
And, hour by hour, refuse to give 
Thy wasting fire life's energies, 
And all, save that which never dies ! 
He, who hath lain in thy embrace, 
Laid to thy breast his burning face, 



124 TECUMSEH. 

And shrunk beneath thy stifling breath, 
And felt each moment nearest death, 
Though Reason still retained her throne. 
And viewed no empire but her own. 
He yet hath wished, the struggle o'er, 
He were asleep to wake no more. 
But when the soul hath lost the helm, 
And wandereth o'er a trackless realm — 
The deep of the eternal mind, 
Now lulled to calm, now torn by wind. 
And still by terror's phantoms haunted — 
Oh ! then that lonely voyager, daunted, 
As visions of strange worlds are seen, 
And things and forms of fearful mien. 
Would, in its fear and wild despair, 
Fly from the wreck, it knows not where, 
Did Reason yield one transient ray 
To guide its trembling flight away ! 



Where Wabash sea- ward hurrieth by. 

Like Life to vast Eternity, 

Above Vincennes a cottage stood, 

Bosomed in Nature's solitude. 

Low was the cabin,, rudely made 

Of trunks, that once, with waving shade, 

Rose o'er the self-same spot, and wooed 

The varied year's inconstant mood. 

Now laid unhewn, with clay between. 

From winds and crannying storm to screen : 

And humble as its outward guise 

Met all within a stranger's eyes. 

The door that closed with wooden lock — 

Capacious as a caverned rock. 

The clay-built chimney, opening wide 

Its broad, rough wings to either side. 

On bent beams raised — thick pendent there^ 



TECUMSEH. 125 

The smoked wild-meats, the hunter's fare — 

On shapeless shelves beside it stored, 

Th' utensils of his frugal board. 

And, darkly round the walls arrayed. 

With all a hunter's pride displayed, 

On wooden hooks old rifles laid, 

Rough skins, or furs a king might wear, 

With branching horns of elk and deer, 

The trophies, to his brightening eye,. 

Of many a sylvan victory — 

All these had shown his wild-wood home* 

Who only did the forest roam. 

To war with creatures by their birth 

The first inheritors of Earth, 

Had not bright axes on the hearth 

Declared, his bold and hardy life 

Was with the forest, too, at strife. 

Thus rose the woodman's home afar, 

Where softly sets the evening star ; 

But with its loud and constant tick, 

That told, alternate, slow nor quick, 

From antique case of ebon hue. 

How fast the silent moments flew, 

A wooden clock, with leaden hands. 

Spoke soothly there of eastern lands, 

That hear Atlantic's billows roar, 

Or on thy green and shadowy shore, 

Connecticut, behold their pride 

Reflected in thy glassy tide. 

HI. 

" A rough day, woodsman. — Bright your fire, 

And cheeripg is its ruddy blaze ; 
For travel through these wilds must tire 

The stoutest on such stormy days." 
" You're welcome, stranger, to my home. 
'Tis rude, sir — but it's mine ! You've come 



126 TECUMSEH. 

Such long and rugged way, harassed 

With cold and snow and lingering fast, 

You'll not our humble fare refuse 1 — 

And whence, sir, are you 1 What's the news 1 — 

We get none in this wilderness ! — 

You're from the east 7 — New-England f' — " Yes.' 

" Oh ! stranger^ that's a glorious land : 

A lovelier heaven hath never spanned. 

Land, where my fathers lived and died ! 

Land of my youth and manhood's pride I 
Oh ! ere I die, that I might stand 

Once more my native stream beside, 
And see its ever-changing breast 
Reflect the heavens' eternal rest ! 
But,, stranger, tidings rarely come 
To these far wilds from childhood's home. 
And pray, sir, do you think they know 

The perils of the pioneer 1 

And how he lives a life of fear 
Environed by a treacherous foe. 
And many find their leafy tombs 
Amid the forest's solemn glooms 1 
I fear not, stranger ! — Is it not 
A sorrow thus to be forgot ?" — 
"Ay, woodsman ! — but thou dost them wrong. 
The distance, great — the time is long ; 
But time nor distance e'er can sever 
True souls that love — ^^they 're linked for ever ; 
And the bright chain, the more they part, 
But tighter binds each panting heart. 
But, father, live ye all alone. 
And hear no sweet familiar tone. 
No household voices, save your ov^n 1" 



" Oh, no — not quite alone — ah, no ! 
See through this latticed window low 



TECUMSEH. 187 

Where, mined by many a hardy stroke, 

Far-crashing falls yon giant oak. 

They are my sons, sir — kind and true — 

God bless them ! — yet they are but two, 

And sadly seem— Heaven pardon me ! — 

Less goodly than the noble three. 

That moulder in their battle-grave. 

Ay, stranger, they were stout and brave ! 

Beside the Wabash far above 

They fought the savage — God of love ! 

They perished in their bright young years ! — 

Nay, stranger, eat, nor mind my tears. 

My father fell on Bunker's Hill : 

He lay beside me, stark and still — 

O death of glory there to die ! 
Years, years have flown — my head is white — 
Within the cold embrace of night 

My sons by yon dark river lie ! 
Their country called them — happy they ! 
God giveth — let Him take away !" — 
" Nay, father — envied be thy lot, 
Who, thus begetting and begot. 
Canst point thy country to thy line : 
If grief, yet glory, too, is thine. — 
But, eye of flame and restless head, 
Who struggles with that feverish bed ?" 



" A noble youth. He fought as well, 
As any on that field who fell. 
I saw him wield in thickest fight 
His circling sword, a beam of light. 
And, where the swift flash cleft its way, 
The living were but lifeless clay. 
The morning came : we found him laid 
Beside the heaps himself had made. 
Pale, cold and senseless — in his hand 



128 TECUMSEH. 

Still sternly grasped his gory brand ; 
Nor fluttering pulse, nor faintest breath, 
Reclaimed him from the realm of death ; 
But through the gashed and quivering side 
The bright, warm drops did slowly slide, 
And in his breast, with fluttering strife. 
Yet feebly welled the springs of life. 
We laid him on a litter rude. 
And bore him through the wintry wood 
To my poor roof ; and, stranger, he 
Shall be a cherished son to me. 
In place of those, the loved and gone : — 
The rather, that I deem, him one 
From my own native land ; for when 
He wanders in his feverish brain. 
His words, disjointed, sweetly tell 
Of that broad stream I loved so well. 
— Ay, his mind wanders ! Oft he seems 
Like one bewildered in his dreams, 
Now murmuring, with fondest tone, 
Some dear name to himself alone. 
Now speaking to her earnest words — 
Love's language only such afibrds ! 
Anon, upraised, with bloodshot eye. 

And burning tears, and gasping breath, 
He raves of artful villany, 

Exile, captivity and death — 
Then shouts, as in the revelry 
Of rushing battle — then, as now, 
Sinks, wearied, on his pillow low, 
Struggling but voiceless. — Look you ! — hark ! — 
His deep delirium you may mark !" 



The hand of Death, the grave alone, 
Can from the human form efface 
Each native trait familiar grace : 



TECUMSEH. • 129 

And Moray's face might yet be known, 

But oh ! how changed ! The dew of pain 

Sprang from his crazed and fiery brain, 

O'er all his forehead — by the flame, 

That burned throughout his shrunken frame. 

Still drunk as fast ; his faded cheek 

The frequent flush did darkly streak. 

And spoke his fearful restless eye 

More than the body's agony. 

Ay, that was nothing ! Hour by hour. 

As urged by some resistless power, 

His wildered spirit voyaged the deep 

Of his dark mind, and would not sleep. 

And could not linger. Many a scene. 

What long was past, what ne'er had been. 

What, reason's mockery, could not be. 

But in the realm of phantasy. 

It gazed upon, still hurrying past 

To something stranger than the last 



Sometimes appeared to him again 
Life's real scenes of joy and pain : 
Then, instant, on some happy shore. 

Some starry isle in heaven's blue ocean. 
Wide fields of light he wandered o'er. 

Borne onward with a spirit-motion, 
Unfelt but ceaseless, to his view 
Appearing flowers of fairest hue. 
Bright birds, and streamlets trembling through 
Green waving trees, while every where 
Sweet voices lingered on the air. 
But these, all these, he passed unheeding. 

For one loved form would ever greet 
His onward gaze — how sadly pleading 
That they might meet, one moment meet ! 
Yet drawing near — he knew not why — 
11 



130 TECUMSEH. 

Oh ! ever still she seemed to fly. 

And he would call her—" Mary — stay !" 

And struggle towards her beckoning hand — 
Then suddenly would seem to stray 

Alone along some waste of sand, 
Boundless and burning ; or upon 
Volcanos' crumbling craters run, 
Through smoking sulphur, parched with thirst, 
And haunted aye by eyes accurst ; 
Or, placed in frailest skiff, to be 
Borne tilting o'er a fiery sea, 
Mid lava-bergs, and on the verge 
Of molten whirlpools' circling surge, 
O'er which the glassy sky and dim 
Stretched sunless far with smooth round rim. 
While evermore, through demon laughter, 
Her gentle voice came trembling after : — 
" Turn, Henry, turn thee !" — but the spell 
Compelled him — where, no thought could tell — 
" Turn, oh, return !" — it might not be, 
So wondrous was his destiny ! 



It was the morn. Around his bed 
The cold December light was shed. 
As, from his low and frozen throne. 
The sun o'er snow-bound forests shone ; 
The antique clock, with warning chime, 
Struck ten from, off the hours of time. 
As when a tune, in childhood dear. 
Long, long a stranger to his ear, 
Wakes, played by casual, careless hand. 
The pilgrim in a foreign land, 
He starts, and deems himself once more 
A slumberer on his native shore : 
Ev'n so the sound of that sweet bell, 
Strange, yet familiar, broke the spell 



TECUMSEH. 131 



That bound his spirit Still reposing, 
But with a start his eyes unclosing, 
He glanced around the rustic room. 
The reverend clock, as in his home. 
Looked down on him, and in his ear 

Its old voice lingered — where was he ? 

It must his father's mansion be — 
Yet else how changed ! as half in fear 
He was but dreaming yet, he took 
Of all a longer, steadier look. 



The old man bent above his head : 

" My father !" Moray feebly said, 

And gazed a moment wistfully 

Into his face — then with a sigh — 

" If thou wert he ! — But no ! ah, no ! 

I seemed at home — ah, were it so !" 

" Thou art ! — thou art !" the old man cried, 

With tears of sorrow and of joy, 

" I'll be a father to thee, boy. 
In love for those, that bravely died. 
My first-born, fighting by thy side !" — 
" But, say, where am I ? — 'Twas a dream, 
A long, dark dream ! The gory stream 
Of battle seemed to run around. 
And corses, piled upon the ground. 
Cumbered my vision. Then — ay, then 

Methought I strove with one — and fell :— 
Oh ! be he cursed of God and men. 

That haunts my sleep — that shape of Hell 
Next came a darkness, as of night. 
Where nothing passed before my sight. 
But formless shadows, till a sound. 

An old sweet sound, to ear and eye 

Unbarred the haunts of memory. 
And brought my father's home around, 



132 TECUMSEH. 

The forms — the tones, of other years — 
Ah ! wherefore was it seen at all !" 
He turned him towards the cabin wall 
Half sullenly and half in tears, 
Yet pressed his hand, so pale and thin, 
The woodman's kindly grasp within. 

XI. 

The winter hours ! How swift they fly 

When happy hearts beat light and high ! 

To him they dragged all tardily. 

He would not count them as they passed, 

But wished that each were now the last. 

He watched in languor, day by day, 

The shadowy eve and morning gray ; 

He saw the sun, within the wood, 

Rise and go down in solitude : 

Nor aught the weary silence broke. 

Save that old clock with silvery stroke — 

Which had a mournful voice become, 

So vainly telling of his home — 

Or, distant, oft, with quick sharp sound, 

The woodman's rifle echoing round ; 

Or, near, the measured stroke and loud. 

By which the patriarch woods w^ere bowed. 

With their slow swing, then thundering crash. 

As chieftain oak and warrior ash. 

The elder world's Titanic birth. 

Hurled headlong, pressed their mother Earth. 

The future was a darkened glass, 

The present nothing, and alas I 

The past a vanished dream— oh ! yet 

A dream, which he would ne'er forget ! 



Bright goddess of the southern clime, 
Bedewer of the wings of Time, 



TECUMSEH. 193 

Wand'ring th' eternal spheres among, 
For ever fair, for ever young. 
And still, from world to world, renewing 
What Time and Death are still undoing — 
O Spring, Earth's visitant from Heaven, 
What countless gifts by thee are given ! 
Thou visitest the gloomy north. 

With thy soft train of whispering Hours, 
And all the stars come brighter forth 

To gaze upon the opening flowers ; 
Thou speakest with thy gentle voice, 
And birds in green-wood bowers rejoice ; 
Thou smilest — lo ! the mountains blue 
Deep dreams of ancient years renew. 
And brooks and fountains, singing free. 
Haste to embrace the calling sea. 
But most, when worn with wo and pain, 
Or age, or sickness' lingering reign. 
Unto the human mind and heart 
An angel visitant thou art. 
The faded eye grows bright to thee, 
The low pulse beats less languidly, 
The pale cheek wins a fresher hue. 
Exhausted thought revives anew — 
Even palsied age thy presence greets 
And from the grave one step retreats. 
Thou only canst not from their bed — 
Ah ! w^ould thou couldst ! — awake the dead : 
How would the minstrel's heart run o'er 
To meet the loved, the lost, once more ! — 
Yet why awake to life's wild fever 1 — 
O thrice-belov6d, sleep forever ! 



And Moray felt the quickening power 
Of Nature's resurrection hour. 
11* 



134 TECUM SEH. 

He watched, beneath the sun's bright eye, 
The snows depart all silently. 
And the broad forest round resume 
The beauty of remembered bloom ; 
He saw around the cabin's door, 
And creeping its rude casement o'er, 
The green-wood vine, the wilding-rose, 
Their buds, and tendrils soft, unclose ; 
He heard all day the song of birds, 
The hum of bees, the murmured words 
Of brooks the early flower among. 

Love's language — while the heavens above 
Descended to the earth in love : 
The bounding pulse of life grew strong. 
And all within, like budding leaf. 
Seemed young — except the hermit, Grief. 

XIV. 

It was a noon of sunny May. 
Far in the green-wood Moray lay, 
Where waters from a quiet spring. 
All day their deep joy murmuring, 
Were gathered near it in the light. 
Amid the green grass, still and bright. 
As watched he o'er the watery glass 
The imaged clouds all idly pass, 
Within the liquid mirror there 
He saw a sudden face appear. 
He started up alarmed, and laid 
His hand upon his trusty blade. 
Then glanced around with searching eye. 
Above, behind him, low and high : — 
Across the pool, in hunter's guise, 
A youthful savage met his eyes. 
The Indian moved not, nor betrayed 
A sign of fear, in features made 



TECUMSEH. 135 

Calm and expressive — like a face, 

Forgot,, though known in former days, 

On canvass painted, with whose look 

The gazer's breast is strangely shook, 

He knows not why : — had Moray seen 

Before that face and earnest mien 1 

With keener scrutiny, once more 

He read those silent features o'er. 

It was — he knew that visage scarred, 

Where murderous wounds the smooth cheek marred, 

It was the boy, now manlier grown. 

Saved by him in the forest lone. 

XV. 

" O-wa-o-la !" he gently said, 

The dusky youth like arrow sped 

Around the pool ; their hands they clasp 

Silently with fraternal grasp. — 

'* Say — is my brother well 1 Is he 

Rejoiced the gentle spring to see V* 

Began a sweet voice earnestly. — 

" How can he be ? — his heart is sad !" — 

" O-wa-o-la would make it glad." — 

" He cannot, boy ! Why hath he come 

Such distance from his mother's home ?" — 

" His mother dead !" was the reply^ 

And a tear trembled in his eye : — 

He had not learned yet to repress 

All heart-wrung drops of bitterness : — 

" O-wa-o-la is left alone ; 

He hath no friend — no brother — none ! 

But," added he, with firmer tone, 

" The moon may wane, the sun may set — 

O-wa-o-la can ne'er forget ! 

The pale-face saved the Huron's blood : 

He comes to do the pale-face good." — 



136 TECUMSEH. 

" 'Tis idle, Huron. I am left 

Of her, who was my joy, bereft." — 

" Say — doth the wood-dove miss its mate, 

Then sit in sorrow desolate. 

Nor haste away to seek its love 1 

O-wa-o-la has learned, a dove 

Droops captive near by Huron's tide." 

"What mean'st thou ?" Moray, starting, cried, 

As shaken by electric shock ; 

"Do not my heart of mourning mock !" 

" O-wa-o-la a singing bird ?" 

Asked the youth proudly. " He has heard, 

A daughter of the pale-face dwells, 

Where great Lake Huron's billow swells." 



As bursting sun through mountain cloud 

Illumes the darkness there. 
On Moray's face, by sorrow bowed, 

Hope brightened o'er despair. 
" Heaven bless thee, boy ! This hour I go — 
But how the maiden's w^igwam know V 
" The Huron's mother lives no more : 
His race are on the spirit shore !" 
Murmured the youth : "why should he not 
Guide his pale-brother to the spot T" 
The lover spoke nor looked reply : 
Though rough and smooth, o'er low and high, 
He dashed along the forest-path 
As if to do some deed of wrath. 
Till, in the cabin low and rude. 
Before that aged man he stood. 



And Moray took his hand : " Time wears, 
O old in virtue as in years ! 



TECUMSEH. 137 

And here I must no longer stay : 
ganger and duty call away. 

Whate'er my portion, — fare thee well, 

And peace and safety with thee dwell !" — 

" No, boy, thou must not, on thy life ! 

With death the very air is rife ! 

Proud England threatens to invade 

Our shores, in all her strength arrayed, 

The stern Tecumseh, far and near. 

Musters the elements of fear. 

Wild tribes are gathering to the war — 

Stay, lest thou die alone and far." 

" I may not, father. Life is vain, 

Unless its star shall shine again ! 

Where'er I be, on land or sea, 

I daily die, till she is free !" 

" But, Henry — nay, if thou must go, 

I will not stay thee — but I know, 

Thus dwelling on this wild frontier, 

I shall be swept to death, nor e'er 

Behold thee more. Then wilt thou bear 
In thy young heart an old man's prayer, 
And if thou tread New-England's shore — 
On which these eyes shall look no more ! — 

Think sometimes of the Pioneer. 

Now farewell, boy ! Fail not to pray 

To Him who guides the wanderer's way : 

Be good — be brave — ^^be true in love — 

God bless thee — may we meet above K" 

The twain passed silent through the wood : 

The old man on his threshold stood. 

Gazing the leafy forest through, 

Ev'n when it shut them from his view. 



'Twas on the same bright day in spring. 
Where Huron's billows slowly swing. 



138 TECUMSEH. 

To meet the lifted wave that falls 

Round Mackinaw's primeval walls, 

Beside a brook, that wound along 

Green trees and flowery knolls among, 

A maiden of the forest stood. 

Oft on the smoothly gliding flood, 

While twining wreaths of blossoms wild, 

She bent her beaming eyes, and smiled 

To see her face, so soft and fair. 

With answering beauty imaged there ; 

Save when a sadness o'er her stole. 

As pouring forth a sorrowing soul. 

With broken notes, yet sweet and clear. 

She heard her comrade singing near, 

Whose form was hid by foliage green — 

Though through the waving boughs 'twas seen, 

By glimpses of her pallid face. 

She was not of the red-man's race. 

XIX. 

What though, a daughter of the Sun, 
And rather of the twilight born 
Than of the flushed and rosy morn. 
That maid with dusk complexion shone ; 
Yet was its hue as purely clear 
As heaven, when first the stars appear ; 
And all her form had Nature's art 
So moulded light, that every part 
From Naiad foot to chiselled face. 
Seemed conscious of a perfect grace ; 
While her untaught, untainted soul. 
Informed, inspired, illumed the whole, 
And flowed through eyes as darkly bright, 
As e'er were lit with heavenly light 
At Beauty's triumph, Love's fond hour, 
In court or cottage, hall or bower. 



TECUMSEH. 139 



And well her simple Indian dress 
Became that airy loveliness. 
The fawn-skin frock, so softly drest, 
Close folded o'er her swelling breast, 
And gently bound her waist about, 
By belt with purple wampum wrought, 
Thence falling short, in graceful ease. 
Like Highland kirtle, to her knees ; 
And, well the rounded limb that graced, 
Her crimson-broidered ieggins, laced 
The beaded moccasins to meet 
Upon those fairy-fashioned feet — 
These soothly of a youth had told, 
Of delicate and maiden mould. 
But that the smooth and raven tresses. 
Descending low in soft caresses, 
And rising breast, howe'er concealed, 
That form a maiden true revealed. 
As on her arm there hung a bow. 
Of polished length and ebon glow, 
She might have seemed, that forest child. 
An Indian Dian, chaste and wild ! 



As stood she there, a chieftain's plume 
Advanced amid the forest's bloom. 
Unseen by her, in fixed delight 
The warrior viewed that fairer sight. 
Than e'er he deemed, could greet his eyes, 
Save in the Indian's Paradise. 
At last she saw, and, half afraid, 
Prepared for flight. " Fly not," he said : 
" The flowers the maiden's fingers twine 
Less lovely than the maiden shine. 
Say, doth the dark eyed Ottowa 
Braid them to deck her bridal day ]" 



140 TECUMSEH. 

Upon her cheek the deeper glow 

Drank up its smiles : " No, chieftain, no ! 

But when among the Ottowa homes 

The wise — the brave — Tecumseh comes, 

Whom all the red-men love to hear, — 

And runners say that he is near — 

Then—" "What," he cried, "if I were he?" 

She gazed on him more timidly — 

Shrank backward — then, with maiden grace. 

Approached, but looked not in his face : 

" Why, then a maid of Pontiac's race 

Presents these Daughters of the Spring 

To cheer him, faint with journeying," 

She said — and with a gentle breath. 

Much like a sigh, the flowery wreath 

Was laid upon Tecumseh's arm. 

" By this clear stream, in sunlight warm," 

She added with a blush and smile, 

" They have been growing all the while, 

That they might greet with lovely eyes 

The Eagle of the southern skies !" * 

XXI. 

" Nor doth the maiden," he replied, 

" By day the lingering moments number, 
Till sits a lover by her side 1 

Sees she no warrior in her slumber 1" 
" Omeena's thoughts," she lisped, with tone 
Like running brooks, " are all her own : 
In dreams Omeena is alone." 
" These flowers," said he, their fragrance smelling, 

" Are sweet, but sweeter, maiden, be 
Flowers, where the Shawnee hath his dwelling ! 

Say — will the Ottowa go and see V — 
" These grow around her father's home : 
Do such not have a fairer bloom ? 
And flowers upon her mother's grave — 



TECXTMSEH. 

Can any else so sweetly wave V 
" But," cried the chief, confusedly, 
As rose to his her speaking eye — 
" Tecumseh is the greatest brave : 
His hands are red with foeman's slaughter !" 
" Omeena is great Pontiac's daughter !" 
Was her reply. — " Tis Pontiac's name 
Leads me to conflict, glory, fame — 
That star shall be Tecumseh's guide ! 
Will Pontiac's daughter be his bride ?" 
" Chieftain !" exclaimed she, pointing high, 
" See yonder cloud climb up the sky. 
And hark ! the song-birds will not sing : 
They cower in fear each shivering wing. 
But lo ! yon eagle's rising form ! 
He hastes alone to meet the storm. 
He cares not for his eyrie past. 
So he may ride the rolling blast. 
Go, warrior ; when the sky is clear 
The Ottowa maid will meet him here. 
Go — when the pale-face dwells no more 
By Wabash tide or Huron's shore, 
Then to her mother's grave she'll bring 
Young flowers, her last, sweet offering. 
And in the eagle's eyrie sing !" 
And ending thus, his hand she took, 
Softly, and with a soul-lit look, 
Though timid love her virgin bosom shook. 

XXII. 

*' Ha !" broke a startling voice and stern. 
Ken-hat-ta-wa, with eyes that burn, 
Behind them stands : " Fool ! thou shalt sleep 
Beside thy mother, cold and deep. 
Before thou be Tecumseh's bride ! 
Home to our wigwam ! Hence !" he cried. 
And stamped his foot, " nor dare to leave, 
12 



141 



142 TECUMSEH. 

Ev'n by thy mother's grave to grieve I 
I love her face in thine too well 
To have thee with a foeman dwell ! 
— And thou'' he said with lip's proud curl, 
" What dost thou with a simple girl ] 
The Ottowa heard, through many lands 
Tecumseh leagued the warrior bands 
For strife against th' accursed stranger. 
Yet, sure, he deems there's little danger, 
Who thus, amid the darkening hours, 
Dallies with maidens and with flowers !" 

XXIII. 

Tecumseh answered, but repressed 

The angry words upon his tongue. 
-' The Shawnee is the Ottowa's guest : 

He stands the Ottowa's graves among" 
He said, and at the mossy mounds 

Behind him glanced : " He will forgive 
His brother's speech, that deeply wounds, 

Nor let a petty strife out-live 
The red-man's cause, the red-man's claim. 
He would, Ken-hat-ta-wa's high name 
May not thus fail that fearful strife 
Which ends the Indian's wrongs or life. 
And if the eagle in his flight 
Has met a warbling bird of light. 
May he not cheer his wanderings long 
With her soft eyes and spirit-song 1 
My brother's griefs will be beguiled 
By beauty of so fair a child !" 



" My guest ?" Ken-hat-ta-wa exclaimed : 
" That name thyself alone hast named ! 
Unasked you came, unforced may go ; 
And, as you please, forgive or no ! 
The injurer forgetteth ever : 



TECUMSEH. 143 



But, tell me, doth the injured 1 — never ! 
Ne'er from the Ottowa's soul shall fade 
The seizure of his captive maid ! 
— My daughter too, forsooth, is fair ! — 
Ay, fairer, than that thou shouldst dare, 
Or such as thou, to win or woo ! 
I tell thee, wert thou not my foe, 
A maid of Pontiac's matchless line 
Might never meet embrace of thine. 
His very bones at such disgrace 
Would rise from yon dark resting place ! 
The pale-faced girl thou took'st from me 
Were a far fitter bride for thee. 
— And why to me a whining make, 
Lest I the Indian's cause forsake 1 
As if I could forego my vow, 
In wrath at such a thing as thou ! 
— This petty strife 1 It shall survive 
The green earth, if Tecumseh live ; ^ 
And when thy soul from earth shall fly, 
I'll haunt thy shade eternally !" 



Then rose Tecumseh 's heart — yet brief 

And calm his words : " The Ottowas' chief 

Has deemed his daughter high above 

The honor of Tecumseh's love. 

Some day the chief may chance to find, 

She is not of her father's mind ! 

— Thou hast avowed thyself my foe. 

Proud Ruler of Dark Waters ! know, 

It is not in thy boasted power 

To make me thine, till comes the hour. 

That hour comes not by insults flung 

From such unbridled, haughty tongue : 

But if thou cross Tecumseh's path 

By deeds, thou soon shalt know, by wrath 



144 TECUMSEH. 

Of rolling fire and reeking steel, 
Thou dost not with a maiden deal ! 
And more. Though Pontiac's name be great, 
Who bowed not to the foe but Fate, 
And though Ken-hat-ta-wa may claim 
By worth to share his deathless fame — 
Tecumseh's name in many a clime 
Shall mightier be through coming time ; 
His spirit, lightening far, shall dart 
Into the red-man's mind and heart 
With more unquenched and kindling stroke — 
Ay ! as that flash this lofty oak, 
Which — start'st thou ! — blazes, rent and red, 
In shivered fragments o'er our head ! 
His high renown shall sound as loud, 
As — hark ! — the peal from yon black cloud, 
Hung high above — the voice, the shroud 
Of the Great Spirit ! — ^till His hand, in one, 
Hath quenched this earth and yonder rolling sun !" 
He turned in scorn : the Ottowa stood and gazed 
Upon the blasted, burning tree, amazed, 
And filled with awe, as gleamed Manitto's eye, 
And crashed his fiery steeds along the sky. 

XXVI. 

Meantime, along the wooded side 
Of low Wabash's loitering tide, 
O-wa-o-la and Moray press 
Silently through the wilderness. 
Where'er they passed, beneath their tread 
The foliage of long years was dead. 
In matted mass, while huge trunks lay, 
Fallen some far, forgotten day. 
But by their side, upspringing new. 
Young plants, and flowers the fairest, grew. 

Of bright eye and sweet breath ; 
And high above, proud living things, 



TECUMSEH. 



145 



The green trees waved their mighty wings : 
From mortal thus immortal springs — 
Thus life revives from Death ! 

XXVII. 

And Moray stood on the field of blood. 
No traces were there of the crimson flood, 
For the kindly dews, and the rains, of heaven 
Had Wept o'er the place where the mighty had striven; 
But a scull or two might still be seen, 
Ghastly, and bare of flesh and hair 
By the rotting rain and the withering air, 
Yet tinged with the dull and spotted green, 
Which hides in the jaw and the empty eye. 
Ere the whitening bone grows smooth and dry ; 
And rusted and broken arms lay scattered, 
Hatchets and swords and war-clubs shattered. 
Nor gazed he not on the peaceful rest 
Of the brave, by their country and Freedom bloBt. 
A few wild flowers were opening around 
On the utmost edge of their broad low mound, 
And o'er them — so gently the sunbeams fell — 
The tender grass had begun to dwell ; 
And he thought Old Time had a kindly way 
Of adorning with beauty the world's decay. 
And he sighed for their dreamless slumber there, 
Embalming in glory the temples of care. 
0-wa-o-la paused, but in sullen mood. 
He picked up a tomahawk rusted with blood : 
" The Huron will keep it," he calmly said, 
" To remember how bravely the red-man bled." 
But a strange light shone in his large, black eye. 
And his struggling breast heaved quick and high — 
What means that hidden agony 1 
12* 



146 TECUMSEH. 



Thence crossed they many a forest stream, 
Lone wandering in its shadowy dream — 
And passed full many a fount and rill, 
In Nature's ear that murmurs still — 
And saw in many a glassy lake 
Their glancing forms dark shadows make. 
But none of these fed Moray's sight 
With wonder, and his soul with light, 
Like those fair plains of varied dress, 
The gardens of the wilderness 
From old, the true Hesperian named, 
And lovelier than the ancient famed — 
The boundless prairies. Far and nigh 
Vast rolling carpets met his eye. 
Of vernal verdure, wrought with flowers 
More gay than bloom in eastern bowers — 
The jessamine and desert-rose. 
Sweet honey-suckles' urn-like blows. 
The wild-pink and the golden-rod, 
And nameless more, of gentle hue. 
That from their tremulous bells of dew 
Breathed ceaseless incense up to God. 
Oft rose into the silent air 
Those ancient mounds, so still and bare, 
That seemed as ever brooding o'er 
The annals of a race no more ; 
While here and there were single trees, 
Conversing with the voiceful breeze, 
That through departed centuries 
Had guarded, with their sceptres green, 
The regal realms that lay between, 
And in their gray dominion seen 
The wild beasts come and pass away, 
And wilder tribes of men decay ; 
And all throughout were living things 



TECUMSEH. 147 



On nimble feet or glittering wings — 
The wild bull, with his shaggy hide, 
The mining gopher, seldom spied. 
The humming-bird on opening flower, 
The eagle high, of kingly power. 



Now past St. Joseph's wave, and through 

The fountains of Ka-la-ma-zoo, 

They plunged into that forest wide 

From Michigan to Huron's tide. 

They entered fearless : for his way. 

By stars at night or moss by day, 

0-\va-o-la, in forests bred. 

With never loss or faltering read. 

So passed they Grande's low-winding river, 

And Shi-a-was-se, slow for ever, 

Till from its southern side they saw 

The imaged clouds on Sa-ga-naw : 

And, all the while, the Huron's skill 

Could slay and dress their food at will ; 

And, if the night fell damp and chill, 

The Huron, with assiduous care, 

Would Moray's leafy couch prepare. 

And, when he was asleep, would spread 

His own warm blanket o'er his head, 

Then sit and watch, with joy, to see 

The pale-face sleep so peacefully. 



'Twas morning on the wilderness. 
By Huron's shore, in rugged grace, 
A bare height heaven-ward raised its face, 
While Huron's waters at its base 

Murmured with soft caress : 
And o'er the lake, that heaved its breast 
Like war-horse breathing in his rest. 



148 TECtJMSEH. 

Rock, wave, and tree, and flower upon, 
The clear bright shining of the sun 
Fell steadily, and scarce the wind 
Stirred the broad forest spread behind. 
Upon that hill's high summit stood, 
Just come, the pilgrims of the wood. 
" Lake of my Fathers !" cried with joy. 
Yet mournfully, the Indian boy — 
"A Huron greets thee ! Let his ear 
Again thy voice in kindness hear. 
Lake of my fathers ! moons have passed. 
Since I beheld or heard thee last ; 
Yet still in dreams would rise to view 
The swelling of thy bosom blue ! 
Yet still in dreams thy gentle voice 
Would make the Huron's heart rejoice ! 

Brother — beyond these waters deep 
From old the Huron fathers sleep ; 
But one, the mightiest of his race. 
On this shore hath his resting-place ; 
Who, twice a hundred winters gone, 
In dreams was told, that here, alone. 
His tomb should be beside the wave. 
I turned so far to seek his grave. 
That ill may not our steps o'ertake. 
And — look you ! see yon thicket shake !" 

XXXI. 

As crouched they in a fringy cleft. 
Deep through the hill transversely reft. 
Above the ridge a bright plume danced, 
A warrior's stately form advanced. 
Lake, forest, air, in heaven's embrace 
He mutely viewed, till o'er his face 
Fell deeper shade. " 'Tis so !" he cried : 
" These scenes of beauty will abide. 
When they, who loved them, all are gone !- 



TECUMSEH. 149 

Vainly, for us, thou com'st, O sun ! 
W}io sav'st not with thy glorious fire- 
Prophetic was that dream, my sire ! 
Untimely strife had been, alas ! 
And all my hopes to darkness pass. 
I hear the rising of the wind ; 
I see the gathering storm behind ! 
Yet shall Tecumseh change and quail ? 
His hand be weak 1 his heart grow pale 1 
No — never ! Like the mountains stand ! 
Do I not tread my native land 1 
Is death not honor 1 Who shall fear, 
When the great Future hath an ear 1 
What foe can bar from death and fame 1 — 
But Time forgets the warrior's claim. — 
What then 1 There's vengeance in the strife, 
And slavery for the recreant's life ! — 
That man I deem most truly blest. 
Whose fate is fixed in his own breast." 
— Another step : with stealthy tread 
And mingled look of craft and dread, 
A form approached of plumeless crest. 
They met — their hands in silence pressed ; 
Then side by side their seat they took, 
And long, with fixed, unchanging look, 
Gazed o'er the broad, blue lake, that lay 
Bathed in the light of early day. 



" Brother," at last a low voice spoke. 
And silvery sounds the silence broke — 
" Tecumseh's moccasins are worn : 
From a far path his feet return. 
But doth he of his journeyings tell 1 
He asks, is Els-kwa-ta-wa welll" — 
" Do running streams sick hearts rejoice 1 
Such is to me Tecumseh's voice, 



150 TECUMSEH. 

And Els-kwa-ta-wa's soul is glad. 

But wherefore looks my brother sad 1 

Would not his words the red-men hear, 

Nor the Great Spirit's message fear 7" 

" Nay, brother, like a rushing stream 

My words have flowed : the red-men dream 

Darkly of vengeance. They have heard 

From the strong winds of night, when stirred 

The mighty forests, — from the waves, 

That rest not — from their fathers' graves, 

Voices, that told them to awake 

And slay the pale-face." — "Visions break 

Upon my soul ! The hatchet gleams 

From the great lakes to southmost streams !"- 

" Ay, soon would be the pale-faced slain 

Like autumn leaves upon the plain, 

But that in one most frantic hour 

Thou ruin'dst all the banded power ! 

The white-men now will all awake, 

And many tribes the cause forsake." 

" But know'st thou not," the Prophet cried, 

" One hand can burst the pent lake's side, 

A thousand cannot stay the flood ! 

I could not rule the headlong mood, 

Myself had wrought." — " 'Tis over now — 

Therefore 'tis well. But, brother, thou 

Art shorn of power ; for wide and near 

The red-men say thou art no seer." 



Blazed fiercely with volcano flame 
The Prophet's eyes : " Fll clothe my claim 
In mysteries of such wildering fear. 
Their coward hearts shall quake to hear ; 
And fire shall be the scorner's part !" — 
" Can causeless murder joy thy heart? 
Thou saidst no more should thus be burned : 
Yet, soon as e'er my feet were turned, 



TECUMSEH. 151 



Oneirah's fearless life was o'er." — 
" I care not ! He will sneer no more ! 
Thy heart is pale ! If thou hast dread 
To slay a foeman, white or red, 
Chieftain or maiden, young or old — 
Then go ! The prophet will unfold 
Dark counsels, and his war-bands lead 
To carnage, flame and warrior deed !" 



Tecumseh rose. Each feature glowed 

As swiftly to and fro he strode. 

While, shadowing o'er his eye of fire. 

So shaken by his trembling ire, 

The broad plume waved : " Now wert thou not 

My father's son, and lov'st the spot 

Where we were born, as well as I, 

I'd hurl thee from the cliff to die, 

And hide, yon weltering depths among, 

The slanders of thy lying tongue ! 

Pale-hearted ? — When the battle bleeds, 

And men are crushed, like withered reeds, 

Mid crash of arms and trampling steeds. 

If thou, through groans and mangled dead, 

Wilt go where'er Tecumseh tread. 

Thy name through coming years shall be 

From silence and oblivion free !" 



The prophet cowered beneath the blaze, 

Nor dared his quailing eyes to raise, 

But with a low, sad voice replied : 

" Who can Tecumseh's wrath abide 1 

It is the wind and rushing blast ! 

But harmlessly its power hath passed — 

For Els-kwa-ta-wa is a tree 

Blasted and bare ! — 'Twas not for me 



152 TECUMSEH. 

To rouse my brother's angry might, 
Which should the palhd foe affright."— 
" Enough : 'tis o'er. — We must arise 
And bend our souls' deep energies, 
With few to aid. The conflict comes. 
While many strive not for their homes. 
Yet on ! — Regain thy power : I go 
To meet the councils held below, 
And then again I journey forth 
Round the far South and watery North. 
How shall we falter — since to live 
Were useless, if our wrongs survive !" 
O'er the blue wave one lingering look they cast. 
Then from the rock in brooding sadness passed. 

XXXVI. 

As died the sound of distant feet 
The Huron sprung from his retreat : 
" Now by my father's grave unblest, 
Where nought bat formless ashes rest. 
Thou murderer ! if a nobler here, 
Whom all the red-men's minds revere, 
Had not rebuked thy soul with fear, 
I would have torn thy breast apart. 
And set my heel upon thy heart ! 
But there shall come an hour at last, 
Ere yet the Huron's life be past !" 
He turned — and soon in forest gloom 
Was standing by a single tomb. 
Two hundred years their flight had made, 
Since in that tomb the chief was laid. 
Two hundred years ! yet there it stood^ 
With yearly reverent care renewed — 
The same, as when it first was reared 
For him the valiant, wise, revered, 
A long low mound upon the shore. 
With birchen bark all plaited o'er, 



TECUMSEH. 153 

Fresh peeled, though round the edge were seen 

A century's matted mosses green ; 

And ever the wave, upheaving nigh, 

A voiceful requiem lifted high. 

What kept unchanged that mound so lone, 

While empires from the Earth had gone 1 — 

Man's dearest blessing from above, 

The universal heart of love ! 

And if the savage, bending there, 

Breathed to that dust his simple prayer, 

Ah ! deem his soul, by Nature taught, 

With no unseemly reverence fraught ! 



Three days were past. The noon-tide sun 

In solitary lustre shone 

Upon the Ottovva's wigwam dwelling, 

And on the straits, that, darkly swelling, 

Roll round that level forest wide, 

A hundred leagues on either side, 

The northern sea's eternal tide. 

With stealthy step and cautious look, 
From woody hill survey they took. 

" See !" said the Huron, crouching low, 
" The women work — they plant, they hoe ; 

Papooses play ; the maidens braid 
Their baskets in the breezy shade. 
Soon will I learn of one below 
What most my brother's heart would know. 
He started — from the hill was gone. 
Through elmy shadows stealing down, 
Where one of years, alone remaining. 
Was wild gourds to the sun light training. 
And Moray saw the matron raise 
Her aged arm, and slowly trace 
The winding course of watery way, 
By strait and island, cape and bay, 
13 



154 TECUMSEH- 

Till westward its direction bore 

By far Superior's lonely shore. 

His heart grew sick — what sees he raore 1 — 

The Huron turned and sought the hill. 

Upon his bosom, cold and still, 

Was Moray stretched — o'ercome that hour 

By fear and sickness' lingering power. 



"Brother — awake!" the Huron said, 

And saying raised his drooping head. 

"Brother, awake ! — If thou art gone, 

Then is O-wa-o-la alone ! 

But thou art blest. No ills molest 

The brightness of that island-rest : — 

Then wake no raore !" — On Moray's heart 

He laid his hand — with sudden start 

Uprose and bore him to a rill, 

His bloodless hands and forehead chill 

Bathed softly, till, at length, again. 

But slowly crept through each blue vein 

The quickening blood. One flash of thought — 

Wildly the Huron's arm he caught : 

" Speak ! — speak ! — where is she 1 — hath she died 3 ' 

" Where her maternal race abide" 

The youth with earnest gaze replied, 
" The chief along the Mighty Water 
Has borne the captive and his daughter." — 

" But why ?" — " To keep them safe afar, 

As he proclaims, from coming war ; 

Yon matron says, he v/ould remove 

That daughter from Tecumseh's love. 

Fool ! thus to scorn, in proud defiance, 

The glory of such high alhance !" 



TECUMSEH. 155 



XXXIX. 



"Ah lost ! — Yet will I seek for thee, 
My heart's sole vestal, though the flight 
Lead me beneath the northern light ! — 

But thou, 0-wa-o-la, art free. 

T will not ask thee still to share 

My toil, my sorrow, my despair." — 

" Behold across th' abiding sky 

Yon pale-faced cloud unresting fly. 

And where it hastes, o'er wood and river, 

Its dusky shadow gliding ever. 

My brother is that cloud so pale — 
He cannot rest — he will not stay ; 

The Huron is its shadow frail. 

That darkly haunts its destined way, 

And may not leave it, save to die. 

No ! still beneath my brother's eye 

I'll wander on and seek each day 

His lost dove" said O-wa-o-la. 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO SIXTH. 



Daughter of Heaven ! that in immortal dreams, 
Hauntedst of old Parnassus' mossy springs, 
Idalian dells, and Helicon's cool streams, 
And Terape, loveliest deemed of earthly things ; 
Or, later, where its leaves the myrtle flings 
On Arno's wave, and soft Vauclusa's dews, 
Or where the swan by honored Avon sings — 
Wilt thou to this new clime, eternal muse, 
In Hesperus' starry robes thy pensive steps refuse 1 

Oh ! mourn no more neglected haunts to see, 
Castalia's fount and Delphi's holy shrine ! 
Oh ! weep not now by fair Parthenope ! 
Nor only stray where Albion's glories shine, 
Or by the beauty of the castled Rhine ! 
For in this long-unknown, Atlantian land 
Are plains, lakes, mountains, rivers, more divine 
Than mightiest bards ere sung at thy command : — 
So might I strike the harp with more celestial hand ! 
13* 



158 TECUM SEH. 

Awake to loftiest strains, Hesperian lyre ! 
Let trembling rapture swell the rising song ; 
Breathe, breathe, O minstrel soul, diviner fire 
The Delian shell's ecstatic chords among ! 
For now the pilgrim youth are borne along, 
Where the sky-glassing waters of the north — 
With many a green isle on their azure flung, 
And streams, and shores immortal — shadow forth 
The majesty, at once, of heaven, and air, and earth. 



Within a green secluded vale, 

That opened out upon the deep, 
By rippling wave and breathing gale 

And rustling foliage lulled to sleep, 
To bear them o'er the waters blue, 
The Huron built his light canoe. 
With hatchet, ever borne for use. 
He hewed him bending roots of spruce ; 
Around their smooth, opposing bows, 
In graceful curvature that rose. 
Long, slender rods he lightly drew. 
Of cedar red and springy yew ; 
From many a trunk, left white and stark, 
Peeled wide and thin tlie birchen bark. 
Which, lapped and folded close around 
The jointed frame, and firmly bound 
In plaited edges o'er the rim, 
He sewed with fibrous wattap slim, 
And pitched, along each seam and line, 
With resin of the gummy pine ; 
Then, last, adorned with skilful eye 
Its sides, and endings curving high, 
With chequered quills and varied paint, 
In all devices queer and quaint — 
Bright snakes, and birds of many a hue, 
And forms that Fancy's fingers drew. 



TECUMSEH. 159 



Two days are past — the work is done. 
The Huron, with the rising sun, 
Exulting bears along the vale 
His skill-wrought structure, fair and frail, 
And lays it on the dancing tide, 
A graceful thing — a thing of pride- 
As if it were a dream of night 
That faded not with morning light. 
Like twittering swallow on the wing, 
Scarce touched the tide that trembling thing, 
And lay like child on cradled pillow. 
Still rocking with the rocking billow. 
So light, so fairy-like, 'twould seem 
Each breath would scare its first young dream, 
Each ruder gale its sleep would wake. 
Each swaying of the cradling lake 
Its fragile elements would break. 
Yet will this bark, so frail and fair, 
Strong tide and heaving billow bear. 
And waft the forest pilgrims far 
Beneath the lonely northern star. 



And now their feet the waters lave. 
Now o'er the brightly lifted wave 
Their birchen vessel lightly flies. 
As o'er the deep the sea-mew hies, 
That only cleaves, with gleaming breast, 
The white foam of each billow's crest. 
Now rising out the wave they saw 
The morn-kissed cliffs of Mackinaw, 
With chalky crags, and fortress white. 
And green-wood, crowning every height, 
Bathed in the day-burst's dewy light, 
While many a mile upon the deep 



tdd TECUMSEH. 

Their dark, broad shadows lay asleep ; 
And now they eastward glanced around 
Below the very walls that frowned, 
Sheer thrice a hundred feet in air, 
With beetling brows and bosom bare ; 
And now they see the island grow 
Faint in the distance dim — and now 
The farewell gaze is backward cast, 
St. Martin's Isles are quickly passed, 
And all the day, while round them lie 
All glorious things 'twixt earth and sky. 
Gleams on the bark from swell to swell, 
As doth the nautilus' pearly shell. 
Till loud along the broken shore 
They hear the northern billows roar, 
And, gliding round, encamp secure 
Beyond the cape of wild Detour. 



The morn is up — the heavens are bright — 

Green Drummond's isle is bathed in lights 

And, far along, the British coast 

Its passing loveliness may boast — 

The wave and sky in glory met. 

Each emerald isle in azure set. 

And hills, with varied woods between, 

Steeped in the gladness of the scene. 

O Nature ! mighty Nature ! thee 

Obeys the earth, the sky, the sea ! 

At thy immortal, balmy breath 

Each morn awakes the world from death. 

And by thy power, unchanged, unworn, 

The universe is hourly born. 

As ever on, from sphere to sphere, 

Circleth around the eternal year ! — 



TECUMSEH. 16 1 

Merrily as the waters glide, 

So merrily shoots along the tide 

Their birchen boat, the light clouds lying 

Upon the stainless heavens — how blest 1 
Their shadows still, yet seen as flying 

Across the waters' moving breast, 
The low winds to the waves replying, 

In love caressing and caressed ! 



And thus along St. Mary's river — 
That, darkly flowing, hastes forever, 
Nor lingers, though a hundred isles 
Entice to stay with tears and smiles, 
Hearing afar the call of ocean — 
They made their way with ceaseless motion. 
Glanced by St. Joseph's sombre shore» 
Low De-la-Crosse, with countless more, 
Till, where the windings first unclose, 
The rushing Rapids whitening rose, 
With loveliest isles in green repose 

Amid their snowy foam ; 
Where, isle or shore, the forests seem 
The strange commingling of a dream-— 
The elm, the ash, the pine supreme, 
The willow bending to the stream. 
Mixed with the maple's changeful gleam, 

And hemlock's living gloom ; 
While, slumbering in their dreamy hue. 
The distant mountains catch the view. 
Such vision to the wanderer's eyes 
Around the world may rarely rise ! 

VI, 

Again sweet Morn awakes. The world 
Yet sleeps beneath her flag unfurled, 



le® TECUMSEH. 

And ere in glowing life it shines 
Passed is the sable Point of Pines, 
At every stroke some fairer scene 
Appearing, than before had been. 
Till, when all boundless falls the sheen, 
Where steep, high headlands frown apart, 
They glide, and — hush thy voice, thy heart, 
Thou gazer ! to thine eye is given 
The mirror of eternal heaven ! 
No more they moved : their being grew 
A part of that abiding view, 
Which, in the moveless heavens' embrace 
Seemed to absorb all time and space. 
Stern guardians of the entrance wide. 
Like Titans rose on either side 
Le Gros and pine-shagged Iroquois, 
Aye brooding o'er their gloomy joys ; 
Thence northward, far along the coast. 
Their giant forms a mountain host 
Fraternal reared, enrobed in blue 

Of wave beneath and heaven on high, 
Till in the distance lost to view, 

Where melted lake and bending sky 
Into each other; westward stood 
A kindred rocky brotherhood. 
That stretch afar, unmoved sublime, 
Dim with the shadows of all Time : 
And, guarded thus, between them lay, 
Clear, limitless, as realms of day 
Spread over them in blue expanse. 
The waters in their mighty trance ; 
While over all — the heavens, the height 
Of the far mountains, and upon 
Th' eternal deep, the early sun 
Flung the broad splendor of his living light 
Illuming there Earth's purest heaven-lit glass, 
Wherein great Nature views her glorious face 



TECUMSEH. 



" On, Huron, on ! I may not loiter, 
Though heaven descend upon the water !" — 
" My brother's words are wise," replied 
0-wa-o-la, the gentle guide ; — 

Fast gleamed the dipping oar. 
And as they passed grim Iroquois 
Began the Huron's sweet, low voice, 

A stirring tale of yore. 
How, many a waning moon agone. 
There battle's fearful light had shone, 

And rang each mountain shore, 
When on that headland's narrow base, 
A thousand of the leagued race 
Of Iroquois, with Hurons brave, 
His valiant fathers, conflict gave 

To thrice a thousand banded foes, 

The sons of Tarhe, joined with those 
That roam by Mississippi's wave. 
From morn till noon, from noon till night. 
Raged like a fire the rolling fight. 
They yielded not : the unequal strife 
But ended with their ending life. 
Yet not in vain ; with them were slain 
Unnumbered foes : — but these obtain 
From living hands, where they had died, 
An honored burial side by side. 
Those, those alas ! dishonored grave. 
A thousand forms — the strong, the brave — 
Scalpless, and rent, and red with slaughter 
Were hurled into the deep, dark water ; 
And, gazing there, the Indians deem 
Their white frames glide beneath the stream. 



163 



164 TECUMSEH. 



VIII. 



And now along the lonely shore, 

Where beat the waves forevermore, 

Like sounding ocean, fast they sped. 

Above the cloudless skies were spread ; 

Upon their right the azure deep 

Lay heaving in her sunny sleep 

Her boundless bosom ; with the haze 

Of distance dim, their backward gaze 

Beheld tlie fading mountains raise 

But shadowy outlines ; at their side 

The shore, that checked the swelling tide, 

A few feet rose, while, far retreating, 

The highlands with the heavens were meeting. 

And all throughout was sable leaf, 

Bereaved Nature's constant grief, 

Which thus she wears in solitude. 

Where none may on that grief intrude. 

Mourning her children, by decay 

Torn from her eyes each hour away ; 

Though sweetly here and there was seen 

A ray, a glance, of brighter green, 

As smiles upon her cheek of sorrow, 
To think, howe'er may die to day 

Her offspring dear, she shall to-morrow 
Of her immortal power embrace 
As lovely, though as frail, a race. 

IX. 

From point to point the waters o'er 
They glide, nor coast the winding shore. 
Shoot past De L'Isle and bold Batture, 
Thence quickly win, with course secure, 
Tequamanon's dark stream of blood 
And slow Obitsis' ruby flood. 



TECUMSEH. 

And thence, nor that with toilings long, 
The barren sands of Na-ma-cong. 
Nor stayed they yet, though from the land 
There beckoned many a dusky hand 
With gestures wild, but faster flew 
With flashing oars, till past from view 
Beyond the surge of low Vermillion ; 
And when to his wave- washed pavilion 
The summer sun had sunk to rest, 
And envious shades the deep possessed, 
They urged their way, as if in flight. 
Beneath the pale moon's beamy light, 
That, far as eye their gleams could trace 
Along illimitable space, 
Made every rising billow be 
A billow on a silver sea ; 
And any gazer there might deem 
Those voyagers forms of moon-lit dream, 
Or two lone spirits, with their boat and oar, 
Passing the deep that laves th' Eternal Shore. 



Brief sleep was theirs. The dawning gray 
Upon the vast, dim waters lay, 
And strange, mysterious shades were driven 
Between them and o'erbending heaven, 
As if, ere day the night hath quelled, 
Their lone communings thus are held : — 
Yet with the shadows' mighty sweep 
The mariners pressed along the deep. 
Till desolation met their eyes, 
Where Sable's sandy hills arise. 
In wreaths fantastically whirled, 
Like drifted snows or banners furled, 
The naked sands, to heaven upreared, 
Where nought of living green appeared 
14 



165 



166 TECUMSEH. 

For many a league ; the trees so bare, 

That stirred not in the breezy air, 

But shattered by the tempest's rage, 

Half buried stood in withered age ; 

The waves, that washed their thirsty base, 

Stretched outward through unbounded space, 

No other shore revealed to sight ; 

The one bald eagle in his might, 

That from his blasted tree looked down 

Four times a hundred feet upon 

Their gliding skiff; and, spread above, 

O'er all the heavens that never move — 

These formed a scene as strange and rude, 

And with as deep an awe imbued, 

As ere was made for solitude. 

As spied they round no living thing. 

Save one that cowered its idle wing ; 

Nor heard a sound, except the wave 

Slow heaving o'er its pebbly pave ; 

Nor saw a moving form, beside 

Their moving shadows on the tide. 

Their bosoms dared not throb aloud — 

They were alone — alone with God ! 



On, on they fled. At last a scene 
Rose lovelier than in dreams hath been. 
Where many a mile, from wave to skies. 
Sublime the Pictured Rocks arise. 
And gain from years of sun and storms 
But added glories, brighter forms. 
Oh ! idle all are words to tell 
How fair, as sunset on them fell ! 
At first a lower range appeared. 
With gray breast o'er the waters reared, 
And many a cave deep, dark, and rounded, 
Wherein the eternal billows sounded. 



TECUMSEH. 167 

That with the roll and thunder-shock 
In terror quaked th' eternal rock. 
Thence towering rose they, cleft and veined, 
Until the very clouds were gained ; 
While on their surface, smooth or rent, 
In thousand shapes were brightly blent 
The thousand hues of earth and air, 
Through varied pictures, rich and rare, 
Structure and landscape, flame and smoke 
As painted by the pencil's stroke, 
And forms which Fancy draws at will 
With all her fair, capricious skill. 

XII. 

Amidst all these so strangely given, 

Long worn by waves, or seamed and riven 

By time and tempest, from the rock 

Stood forth all shapes the eye to mock. 

Old fortresses and castles towered, 

Whose battlements and bastions lowered 

Dilapidated, desolate. 

Where Ruin holds his regal state ; 

Wide grottoes, smoothly scooped, far down 

Beneath the lucid waters shone ; 

And, reared in majesty alone, 

Columnar rising from the wave. 

Or sunk below with polished pave. 

Where eddies aye with gurgling sound 

Circle the chiselled shafts around. 

Were solemn temples, simply grand, 

Hewn not by any mortal hand. 

Hark ! through their ancient aisles and dim, 

And sounding nave, the choral hymn 

Goes up to Jove ! — Nay ! 'tis the roar 

Of waters rolling evermore 

Among the massy pillars there. 

With anthems and the voice of prayer. 



168 TECITMSEH. 

That, rising to His far abode, 

For ever fill the ear of God ! 

And still beside them, deep and low. 

Pierced darkly, whither none may knawy 

Yawn mighty caverns, v^^herein go 

The smothered billovi's, to and fro ; 

While over al], in sullen frown,. 

Huge precipices darken down. 

With trees on all their winding verge. 

Green waving o'er the foamy surge. 

Chaos of splendors ! It would seem 

As Nature, known in skill supreme,. 

Had chosen, at some idle hour. 

To mock vain man's mimetic power,. 

And on that solitary shore. 

Ere broke its wave the Indian's oar. 

Displayed with her almighty hand 

The mortal works of every land. 

And o'er the whole assemblage strown. 

Strange lovely fancies all her own !; 



What need to speak, in lingering strain, 
Of all that could a glance obtain. 
Each day, from those who went in haste 1 
Enough that many an isle was passed, 
Appearing loveliest still the last, 

Like eyes of Beauty's daughters ; 
Enough that many a gray rock rose 
To guard the forest's wide repose. 

Far imaged on the waters ; 
Enough that all the shore along 
Was heard the gush of warbled song, 
That many an aged tree was seen. 
With shrubs below of softer green, 
And thousand flowers of fairest hue, 
Shone meekly in their stainless dew, 



TECUMSEH. 

While still, at morn or evening-fall, 
Blue skies were bending over all. 

XIV. 

The eighth-day morn had brightly broke, 
Since first they plied the constant stroke : 
An hour or two, still climbing higher, 
Was risen the sun with eye of fire. 
Beyond a wide bay, in the light, 
A distant headland rose to sight : 
So calm the deep for this they pressed 
Directly on witii fearless breast : 
The Huron to their oars kept chime 
With legends of the olden time. 

XV. 

A league or two had they advanced. 
And softly yet the sunbeams glanced, 
And scarce their calmly listening ear 
The low-voiced passing wind could hear ; 
Yet shook the lake in strange unrest, 
As if by fearful dreams possessed, 
And the dark waves, they knew not why, 
Were lifting higher and more high. 
Alarmed, then, east, and west, and north, 
The bark-borne mariners looked forth. 
Upon the horizon, scarce descried 
A shapeless something Moray spied : 
" It is no larger than my hand. 
0-wa-o-la, can it be land." 
" No, brother, 'tis a spirit-cloud" 
The Huron said, but not aloud ; 
" And if yon cape we may not gain. 
We're by the Tempest Spirits slain." 
14* 



10» 



170 TECUMSEH. 



XVI. 



No more they said. Each nerve was strained, 

Another mile was quickly gained ; 

But massy billows more and more 

Aloft the wavering bark upbore, 

And vast black columns slowly grew 

Up from the deep's remotest blue, 

While red their livid ranks athwart 

Keen Lightning's forked tongues would dart, 

Drinking the darkness, and anon 

Hoarse Thunder's voice came rolling on. 

A furlong more — and suddenly 

The air around them seemed to die. 

They look. With Titan mien and form 

Fast move the spirits of the storm ; 

And, with their awful presence filled, 

All heaven and air and earth are stilled ; 

Except, scarce audible, there creep 

Mysterious moans along the deep, 

And the huge billows crestless raise 

Their monster heads, as if to gaze 

Upon those mighty shapes — then cower 

Beneath each other low and lower. 

XVII. 

Now half a league away uprose 

The shelvy coast with hanging brows ; 

They turned and strove their skiff to guide 

Lengthwise across the surges wide. 

The bark sprung buoyant in the strife, 

As Hope upon the sea of life. 

But wilder yet the waters grew. 

Though still no breeze upon them blew, 

And the grim clouds in squadrons drew 

Half round the heavens, while calmly shone 



TECUMSEH. 

Along- their lines the opposing sun. 

Upon their sable bosoms high, 

And banners, shadowing o'er the sky, 

Whence, downward on the waters cast, 

Strange lurid lights were darkly glassed. 

Heaved with the heaving billows vast — 

Horrible splendor ! and aloud 

Were mutterings heard from cloud to cloud. 

As spoke each spirit through his shroud — 

Rolled the deep drum, and spears were driven, 

The lightning-spears, through echoing heaven. 

A moment more — they hear behind 

The deep voice of the herald wind — 

Then swift steps on the waters — lo ! 

The Tempests breathe around them now 

The mist of their gray breath : 
One instant there the sunbeams throw 
Upon them Heaven's own glorious bow — 

O were it hope in death ! — 
Then all is night-^around them tread 
The elements of wrath and dread, 
While, chafed like steeds, beneath their feet 
The foaming surges rise and meet. 

XVIII. 

The bark-borne gazed — with fiery trail. 
That made the cheek of Darkness pale. 
Close by their side descending steep, 
A bolt shot crashing to the deep. 
The Huron dropped his bending oar. 
And folded up his arms before. 
" Manitto speaks !" he scarce could say — 
" Owaola is called away !" 
An instant shot, with quivering breast. 
The frightened bark from crest to crest — 
A distant billow, black with doom. 
Came combing through the tempest's gloom : 



171 



172 TECUMSEH. 

" O Mary ! heaven will be our home !" — 
" My father's spirit ! lo I come !" 
Last words the Huron, Moray, gave, 
As whelmed they sunk beneath the wave. 
Trained, fearless swimmers, light and strong, 
With wave and storm they struggled long, 
And land was but a furlong's length. 
When failed the Huron's youthful strength ; 
But Moray grasped him, as he sank. 
And bore him on, though thus he drank, 
Each stroke, himself, the boiling surge : 
And now their arms lay on the verge 
Of the smooth sand, with feeble grasp, 
Convulsive groan, and bubbling gasp, 
And now, by refluent waters torn. 
To their deep burial were they borne, 
When, rolled o'er all, as bursts the steed 
Through war's wide ranks with headlong speed, 
One surge supreme far on the pebbly beach 
Hurled them aloft beyond the billows' reach. 



Nor yet the tempest-gods gave o'er 
Their revelry by lake and shore. 
Some on the bald-topped mountains stood, 
That distant rose within the wood. 
And to each other called, and flung 
Red shafts the hoary trees among ; 
Others in darkness rushed abroad 
Upon the yielding deep, and trode 
Its waves to madness, till between 
The wide lake flashed with fearful sheen ; 
Or shouted all unto the host 
Along the northern mountain-coast. 
That answering shouts as loudly gave 
A hundred leagues across the wave — 



TECUMSEH. 173 

And still those pallid ones all breathless slept, 
Nor heeded aught the tumult round them kept. 

XX. 

But on the Storms with fixed bright eye 
At last looked forth the Deity. 
Before that calm rebuke they fled, 
With mutterings deep and sullen tread ; 
All nature round, to light restored. 
With smiles, and tears, and whispered word. 
And incense-breath, her God adored ; 
And by the genial warmth revived. 
Again exhausted Moray lived. 
He moved — he woke. Like lifeless clay, 
On the cold stones beside him lay 
0-wa-o-la, the grateful guide. 
"Arouse thee, boy !" he said, and tried 
To waken him — but vainly took 
The pale hand, which no tremor shook. 
Long time he sat> and watched the cast 
Of his chill face ; but never passed 
One shade of change, nor ever came 
One breath from that unmoving frame. 
Then deemed he thence the life was flown, 
And sighed the low lament alone. 

XXI. 

" Last of thy race ! I will not weep 

This loss, the sorest. 
Though sweet the love, and passing deep^ 

To me thou borest ! 
No ! sleep, since all thy kindred sleep. 
Child of the forest !— 
And I will lay thee here, where ceaselessly 
To soothe thy rest blue waters murmur by. 



174: TECUMSEH. 

" They were to thee in life most dear, 

Thy joyance only — 
Alas ! they have become thy bier — 

Though now they moan thee — 
And borne thee to thy burial here, 
To lie how lonely ! — 
May naught thy solitary sleep molest : 
Heaven take thy gentle spirit to its rest !" 



He started — was he not alone 1 
Was it the Huron's stifled groan 1 — 
With anxious care he bent o'er him, 
Wiped the cold brow and chafed each limb. 
Glowly returned the vital flush 
O'er cheek and breast, as morning's blush 
Upon the pale and dewy sky ; 
And then, at last, the shrouded eye, 
Like morning sun no more concealed, 
Was in its living depths revealed. 
His head upon his hand he raised. 
On all around bewildered gazed — 
Retreating clouds, the foamy beach. 
And, far as keenest ken could reach. 
Wild waves, that reared and plunged again 
With dark broad breast and snowy main — 
On Moray then. How met their eyes 
In that lone gladness of surprise ! 



As looked he near with closer view. 
His shattered bark the Huron knew. 
A pensive, long survey he took, 
Then thus in artless sorrow spoke : 



TECUMSEH. 175 

" Thou 'rt wrecked, my bark, in lonely place ! 

O-wa-o-la in pleasing toil 
Endowed thee with too fragile grace — 
Thou liest the tempest's spoil ! 
I do not know what hate to thee it bore — 
Thou'lt breast the wind and sunny waves no more ! 

"Ah ! light and bold wast thou, my bark. 

And fearless we with billows played — 
And now beside the waters dark 
Alone must thou be laid ! 
But when I reach at last the spirit shore. 
We'll breast the wind and sunny waves once more !" 

With broken oar a shallow grave 
He made beyond the wasting wave. 
The shattered oars into it threw. 
And fragments of his light canoe. 
Heaped over them, with faltering hand, 
The smooth bright stones and pebbly sand. 
Then led the way, in silent mood, ] 
Up through the overhanging wood. 

XXIV. 

The coast was steep : from left to right 
Deep forests stretched beyond the sight, 
While, distant from their midst upreared, 
The highlands' shadowy heights appeared. 
As on they fared the green-wood through, 
The landscape wild and wilder grew, 
With stream, and mound, and mossy stone. 
And dells that ne'er beheld the sun. 
Till rose at last upon their ear 
The roar of falling waters near. 
Then came they to a deep ravine. 
Where many a fathom down was seen, 



176 TECUMSEH. 

With hanging trees on either side, 
And toppling crags, a rushing tide : 
And, following up its rock-hewn course, 
They saw, in all its maniac force. 
The maddened stream leap wildly down- 
As in th' inebriate bowl to drown 
The memory of pleasures flown, 
Lost by a folly all its own — 
Into the dark and boiling chasm. 
That shook with a convulsive spasm^ 
While rose the spray above, around, 
With an eternal sun-bow crowned. 



And when their first bewildered view 
Was cleared of that bedimming dew. 
What saw they, that they started so ? 
Within the cataract's centre, lo ! 
Where one small rock the glassy flood, 
Just bending in its fatal mood. 
Might barely part, an Indian girl 
Stood gazing on the dizzy whirl. 
A fallen tree, as it should seem, 
Had rudely bridged the rapid stream 
A space above, but, from the clay. 
When over it her homeward way 
Essayed the forest's fearless daughter. 
Borne downward by the swollen water, 
Had barely, with the clinging maid, 
Upon that tide-worn rock been stayed. 
Half floating in the current's flow. 
Half hanging o'er the abyss below. 
And on that most precarious base. 
With all an Indian maiden's grace. 
In huntress' garb, with ebon bow, 
And arrows hung her breast below, 



TECUMSEH. 177 

Unmoved she stood, and looked around, 
If aught of rescue might be found ; 
Eyeing at times, and earnestly, 
The branches of a massive tree, 
Which, riven by the lightning's stroke, 
Remained with half its strength unbroke, 
While half above the gulf was hung. 
And down those shattered branches flung 
Just over and beyond the edge. 
So rose she on that lofty ledge, 
The thing of calmest, loveliest mien 
In all that fair and fearful scene — 
Ay, lovelier, calmer, to the sight 
Than e'en the Iris, child of light, 
That, mingled of its changeless dies, 
Could so serenely there arise. 
And watch her with its radiant eyes. 

XXVI. 

And now a step or two she put 
Without the ledge her beaded foot. 
And hung the yawning gorge above, 
While with that glittering bow she strove 
To reach those branches in the air : 
Then, as the round beam wavered there. 
She started back, yet not in fear. 
But calmly raised her hand to clear 
The long black tresses from her face, 
And wondering gazed a moment's space. 
On all the lovely scene, which seemed — 
The more that death was near her deemed — 
Fairer than aught she e'er had dreamed. 
And sweetly smiled a girlish smile. 
To see the Iris all the while 
So brightly there, yet not in gladness, 
Look on the waters' eager madness. 
15 



178 TECUMSEH. 



XXVII. 



But soon full anxious grew her glance. 
As wandered through her mind, perchance, 
Some thoughts of parent, home and kin, 
And throbbed her gentle heart within. 
Again beyond the dizzy verge 
She did her faltering footsteps urge. 
Again upraised her bow to bring 
The far boughs near, whereon to cling ; 
Again, as boat on ocean's swell. 
The beam, o'erbalanced, rose and fell. 
The twigs were frail, nor could avail 

Her utmost skill to draw them nigher ; 
Her footsteps' stay all tottering lay, 

She saw the swoln stream swelling higher 
One moment, then, with earnest thought 

Viewing the green and glassy flood — 

That o'er the rocks, in meaning mood, 

Insanely bent to ruin there. 
With smooth and fatal flow — she caught 

The conscious calmness of despair. 
With slow retreat she took her seat 

The bow around her neck she hung, 
In folded rest upon her breast 

Her softly moulded arms she flung ; 
Then, looking with unaltered mien. 
Upon the sunbow's face serene, 
Nor ever turning once aside. 
Except to see the rising tide, 
She did in tranquil paleness wait 
The coming of her fearful fate. 



But soon as, breaking from their trance, 
She saw the twain in haste advance, 



TECUMSEH. 179 

She started up, with sun-light gleams 

Of joy illuming face and eye, 
As when from darit and fearful dreams 

One wakes to glad reality ; 
Yet spake no anxious words, but slow 
Points toward the boughs her ebon bow. 
She looked the daughter of a chief, 
That scarce in need would ask relief. 
Upon the rent tree Moray sprung. 
Crept down its slivered limbs among, 
Then, bending from their shaken shade 
Above th' abyss, he caught the maid, 

Who sprung to meet him there : 
Swayed off, and by the waters dashed, 
The rude bridge downward thundering crashed— 

The girl hung in the air — 
But Moray's strong arm safely drew 
Such form the rocking branches through, 
And throbbed his heart with joy elate. 
When, loosened by the two-fold weight, 

The rocks fell down beneath. 
The rifted half-elm, crackling loud, 
Into the roaring gulf was bowed 

And drank the cataract's breath, 
By but a single root up-stayed. 
"Go ! pale-face !" cried the earnest maid, 
" Go, brother, ere it be too late. 
And leave the red girl to her fate, 

The fate she faced before V 
But he, her slender form embraced. 
Sprung up the tree with arrow's haste. 
Which, as he leaped upon the ground. 

Its headlong passage tore, 
And, whirling steeply round and round, 
Fell with a crushing crash that drowned 

The cataract's rising roar, 



180 TECUMSEH. 

And left them on the precipice 
Gazing into the wild abyss. 



And Moray's hand the maiden took 

With words less eloquent than her look. 

"White-man," she said, "my sire hath taught 

To scorn, by deed, by word, by thought, 

Thy race, by whom our race have bled, 

Foes to our living and our dead. 

Yet is Omeena's soul her own. 

For thee, at least, if thee alone. 

The Ottowa's child forgets her vow — 

Ah I and for one more pale than thou, 

In this life made almost a spirit, 

So near's the life she will inherit ! 

Will not my brother go and see 

How fair a faded flower can be V* 

She spoke, nor waited for reply, 

But sprung before him joyfully, 

And tripped with airy steps along 

Trees, rilJs, and flowery banks among, 

And sunny glades ; nor failed to pass 

Oft, as by chance, some watery glass, 

Wherein to view her lovely face. 

Lest it had lost some winning grace ; 

Or, bending down upon the plain, 

She would from wild-flowers brush the rain. 

And wreathe them in her flowing hair, 

And shoot her arrows through the air. 

Then laugh, till all the leaves around 

Seemed tremulous with the silvery sound. 

0-wa-o-la his eyes of love 

Could never from her beauty move : 

But Moray could nor see nor hear. 

For at his heart were hope and fear. 



TECUMSEH. 181 

XXX. 

" She must not see thee suddenly, 
Lest — hark ! it is her voice you hear ; 
I did not think she was so near !" 

In deep suspense and agony 

Stood Moray there, as wild and shrill, 

Or low and sad, beyond a rill 

Concealed by foliage, rose a strain 

Which might the passing wind enchain. 

" He came and wooed, he staid and won — 

His face, it was so fair ! 
And with such soft and winning tone 

He would his love declare. 
Which should through life, through death, remain — 
Alas ! he never came again ! 

For ah ! in war — " but here the lay 

Died, like a broken lute's, away : 

And then she wildly laughed till rung 

The forest round, and then she sung : 

" Oh ! lovely the forms and the sounds of earth. 

But lovelier fill the air ; 
By day and by night they are hovering around 

And they call to me every where. 
And they say, ♦ come away !' " — the notes once more 
Sunk low and tuneless as before. 
" Alas !" the lover cried, "what change 
Has made thy voice so sadly strange !" — 

And springing caught the vision there, 
And groaning sunk upon his knee — 
" It is not she ! it is not she ! 

O God ! thou mockest my despair !" 
" What ! speak'st thou of another maid 1 
There was with us," Omeena said, 
15* 



182 TECUMSEH. 

" Long since, most sorrowful and fair, 
Like this, a moon-lit form of air. 
But she one night was stolen away." 
No word could heedless Moray say ; 
Yet, as he gazed, 'twas sad relief. 
That she, so worn with wo and grief, 
Was not his own beloved one — 
Such wreck had all his heart undone. 



O still earth's fairest are the frailest, 
Thou mourner by the tomb that wailest ! 
And whatsoe'er her life, 'twas seen, 
It left her not what she had been. 
She had, Omeena said, from home 
Across the great salt waters come, 
And in the western wilds was ta'en 
A captive, while her kin were slain, 
Then many a weary league removed 
Where'er her restless captors roved ; 
Last, from the Ottowa's Indian foes 
Was rescued in the conflict's close. 
But with a jarred and wandering mind, 
And beauty of that fearful kind. 
That paleness all unmixed with bloom. 
Which is a promise to the tomb. 
Save this, her voiceless history 
Was writ in Mercy's book on high. 

XXXII. 

Heedless she sat, as from the bank 
Her feet the cooling waters drank, 
With dress arrayed in simple style. 
As rural seen in Albion's isle. 
But rudely wrought, without the aids 
Which should belong to gentle maids : 



TECUMSEH. I8S 

Her marble brow and bosom bare 

Shone coldly through her auburn hair, 

Which, all with hueless flowers entwined 

And green leaves, floated unconfined ; 

And oh ! those eyes, once darkly blue, 

Were faded to that milder hue. 

The sorrowing soul's ethereal light, 

When, having long with sufferings striven. 
It has become allied to heaven — 

Yet wandered with uncertain light, 

As seeing forms, where'er they fell, 

To others' eyes invisible. 

Fresh flowers she held, the young and frail — 

Some dark, though best she loved the pale — 

Which she would fondly kiss, and pressed 

With tears upon her faded breast, 

And gazed into their eyes so near, 

Then sang, as if they could but hear : 
"Ye are children of the earth, they say, 

Of the earth and the sunny air. 
But I know ye are born of the stars by night, 

For how can the dark earth bear 
Such lovely and sinless things as ye. 
That dwell in her blight and misery 

Without a tear ! 
"Ye are fair in the forest, but fairer far 

Your sisters along the Tyne, 
For the skies o'er them — " her restless eye 
A moment fixed on vacancy, 
"Ay !" murmured she, in dying strain, 
"He never — never — came again !" 

XXXIII. 

" Dear sister, cease !" Omeena cried, 

And pressed the poor girl to her side : 

" Why wilt thou weep among the flowers ?" — 

" Oh ! for they speak of happy hours ! 



184 TECUMSEH. 

And youth was sweet — and life is vain— 
And tears will ease my aching brain — 
And flowers have nought to be forgiven, 
For they have always looked on heaven !" 
As Moray was descried, amazed 
She screamed, and, starting backward, raised 
Her hand above her eyes, and gazed 
Through gathering tears, with fearful shaking. 
As if, from mournful dreams awaking,. 
From out their scenes, confounded all,. 
She strove some image to recall — 
Then shook her head, while sadder grew 
Her pale, thin face, — then nearer drew, 
Gazed in his eyes, and through his hair 

Her wasted fingers led : 
" Thine eyes are dark, thy face is fair, 

Thy locks are soft," — she said : 
" Thou look'st like him I loved so well — 
But he, I know in battle fell, 

And moulders with the dead. 
In bloody France were thousands slain — 
And Moray never came again !" 
" 'Tis he she means, and he hath died, 
My Scottish kinsman," Moray cried : 
"A sword no nobler ever wore ; 
But now his course of glory's o'er. 
And Aere, and such, is she he loved ! — 
Poor girl, the world thou'st sadly proved !" — 
" His kinsman thoa 1 Now blest be God ! 
And wilt thou from this gloomy wood 
Bear me away — but not, I pray, 
Where cold in blood my parents lay ! 
But let us to sweet England go ! — 
And thou, beloved Omeena, too, 
Thou'lt dwell with us beside the Tyne : 

Thou dost not know how sweetly blow 
Its flowers, how bright its stars will shine !" — 



TECUMSEH. 185 

"Ay !" Moray cried, and kissed her cold, wan brow, 
And back with tears the dewy tresses parted, 
" I'll bear thee to some rest, thou broken-hearted !*' 



They sought the hut. Omeena's care 

Was setting forth its frugal fare. 

Dried venison, simple cakes of corn, 

Cool water from the fountain borne, 

When suddenly within the door 

The Ottowa stood that group before. 

First wondering glared his fierce, black eye, 

Then lightened o'er its midnight sky 

Vindictive rage ; nor heeded he. 

Through wrath, the wigwam's sanctity : 

" What ! darest thou slay the red-man, then 

Brave waking vengeance in her den? 

Die ! murderer of my father's son !" 

" To save my life he risked his own !" 

Omeena cried, and stayed in air 

The gleaming knife between them there, 

And told the while, with earnest breath, 

Her rescue from that fearful death : 

"If this Oo-loo-ra's murderer be. 

Then let thy vengeance fall on me !" 

The admiring chieftain eyed his child, 

To mark her lofty spirit smiled. 

Then Moray to the door- way led : 

" That hand by which my brother bled 

Has saved my daughter from the dead : 

Revenge and Gratitude are met. 

But listen, pale-face. Thou art yet 

One of a race we deem our foes. 

While rolls the sun, or river flows ; 

And I am still a foe to thee. 

Before us mark that slender tree : 

Soon as its shadow, through the door, 



186 TECUMSEH. 

The sun shall fling along the floor, 
Thou must begin thy fastest flight. 
I stay : but when his mid-day height 
The sun hath reached again, my hate 
Shall track thee with the steps of Fate." 
He sat him by the door alone, 
And moveless watched the moving sun ; 
Nor of the meaning glances knew, 
Omeena to the Huron threw. 



"Yes !" murmured she from secret place, 

" Most like it looks — the same fair face !" 

And then at Moray's feet she kneeled. 

And raised those eyes, by madness sealed 

With earth's most strange and fearful blight : 

" My mother stood by me last night ! 

It was not, mangled, wet with blood, 

As lay she in the leafy wood ; 

It was not, in a shroud so pale. 

As sister sleeps in Tyne's low vale ; 

But oh ! it was a vision bright, 

That seemed to shine by inward light, 

Most beautiful to see ; 
And through my spirit stole a voice. 
That I should weep not, but rejoice. 
For soon her sorrowing child should come 
Unto the Father's heavenly home, 

' Where many mansions be.' — 
Lo ! there, what light the heavens doth rend ! 
See, see those angel forms descend 

From out eternity ! 
Ah ! when I shall have passed the deep. 
And with my gentle sister sleep, 
Will such not come and take my soul to Heaven V 
Tears, many tears, but no reply was given. 



TECUMSEH. 187 



XXVI. 

The sun had gained his noon-tide tower, 

The shadow marked th' appointed hour. 

The chieftain rose, two polished bows. 

And store of smooth-wrought arrows, chose : 

" These will obtain ye hunter's food — 

Let pale-face make his safety food." 

He spoke, and sped them from the door. 

The Huron set his steps before ; 

And fast their feet from wigwams rude 

Were bearing back to solitude. 

And closed around the darkening wood, 

When — why his course should Moray wheel ? 

What could that final glance reveal 1 — 
He heard no cry — he saw her fall — his tread. 
Swift as the wind, but came to find her dead ! 
He was her trust — and when on her cold cheek 
One kiss he pressed, with lips that could not speak, 
Then passed away, in mute and chill surprise 
She watched, till closed upon her aching eyes, 
O'er that last hope, the wildering forest wide. 
Then spoke no word — but all within her died : 
The pain, the woes, grief, dread, despair of years 
Were crowded on her heart — she shed no tears : 
That heart's last string was broke — she gave no cry. 
But, ere she fell, her soul passed silently. 
With folded hands across its virgin breast, 
A lifeless form the bare earth-threshhold pressed. 
— She was not changed. There was no power in Death 
To blight those features more with his chill breath. 
Than they had been in life : where Grief hath made 
His dwelling long, there are no flowers to fade ; 
And all the diflference in this was shown. 
The marble statue from its base overthrown, 
Save that the frozen eyes' more glassy light 
Declared her reason now departed quite ! — 



188 TECUM SEH. 

Where was the spirit flown 1 — Oh ! who could doubt, 
That saw her suffering all, yet murmuring naught? 
Those bright and heavenly ones, she seemed to see, 
Had borne it up, where " many mansions be." 

XXXVII. 

They laid her on a wicker bed, 

With braided mats and wild skins spread. 

Then sat the chieftain by the door. 

And turned him towards the form no more. 

And yet, though none its lines might trace, 

Grave sadness shadowed o'er his face : 

But Moray gazed upon her there, 

So purely pale, so coldly fair, 

And could not take his eyes away 

From Mary in that lifeless clay ; 

While, lovelier now by sorrow's mien. 

Than yet 0-wa-o-la had seen, 

Who then but felt her beauty's power, 

Omeena, heedless of the hour. 

With tears — tears to herself denied 

When Death had marked her for his bride — 

Poured forth a low and ceaseless wailing, 

Of mournful sweetness most prevailing. 

XXXVIII. 

THE LAMENT. 

" Where is the foam of the waters 1 
White on the golden sand it shone : 
But a wave from the deep came dark and high — 
I looked and the foam was gone ! 
It might not linger ! 

" Where is the snow-wreath of winter ? 
Pure in the forest depths it lay : 
But the Great Spirit looked from the stormless heavens, 
And the snow-wreath passed away 
In its own breathing ! 



TECUMSEH. 189 



" Where is the cloudlet of Summer ? 
Palely it slept on the sky's calm breast : 
But the winds blew strong and the tempest rose^ — 
The cloud found a darker rest, 
No more returning ! 

" Lovely wast thou, my sister. 
Gentle and sad as the night's low breath ! 
Ah ! if thou hadst been less sweet and fair. 
Thou wouldst not have charmed cold Death 
Nor grieved Omeena ! 

••Vain is the voice of my sorrow ! 
Never again to the earth nor me 
Thy spirit returns from the Shadowy Land : 
And with tears shall I gaze, like thee. 
On stars and flowers ! 

" Yet will I cease from my mourning, 
Child of the moon-lit Ocean-foam ! 
For a captive, and orphan, and lonely in wo, 
Manitto hath called thee home. 
To meet the long-lost ! 

" Soon may I come to thee, dearest ! 
Sorrow and tears and the tomb are not there, 
And the flowers have no fading, the storm never comes, 
And joy fills the boundless air. — 

Sleep, sleep, thou dreamless !" 

XXXIX. 

The broad sun's parting beams were shed 
Upon the mourning and the dead : 
Again was Moray speechless led . 
Without the door. " Thus much for grief," 
More softly spoke the deep voiced chief: 
16 



190 TECUMSEH. 

" The pale-flower many winds had shaken 
She sleepeth well and will not waken. 
But now depart : no longer mourn. 
The Ottowa's vow may not return. 
Thus low the sun to-morrow's night, 
His feet will chase thy lingering flight." 
One look to those still features given, 
One thought upon her soul in Heaven, 
And heart- wrung Moray rushed away. 
While closed behind Night's- pinions gray. 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO SEVENTH. 



Love rules the universal heart of man 
Through all its range of age, rank, place and mood ; 
But thou, since first in Heaven her reign began, 
Her kindliest offspring art, O Gratitude ! 
Man's hard, stern heart grows soft, with thee imbued, 
And sweeter swells the fount of woman's love : — 
O let thy forms in dwellings wild and rude 
No doubt nor scorn in polished bosoms move, 
Since wheresoe'er thou be, thou comest from above ! 



Again, as thence the Huron passed, 
Omeena's meaning glance was cast, 
Ere yet his face the Ottowa turned ; 
And well 0-wa-o-la discerned 
Her earnest wish, and throbbed his breast, 
Of her sweet confidence possessed. 
Some weary hours their way they made 
Beneath the two-fold solemn shade 



192 TECUMSEH. 

Of night and forest, till around 
The high hills lay, with hemlocks crowned, 
And just upon the verge of heaven 
The wan and wasted moon was given 
To their lone gaze. Then, wooed and won. 
Soft sleep reposed with them. But soon 
0-wa-o-la shook Moray's breast 
And roused him from his troubled rest : 
" Look ! see them stand on every side !" — 
"Ay, and the Ottowa's chief hath lied !" 
" What shall we do 1" the Huron said. 
With feigned surprise and whispered dread : 
" Say, brother— shall we rise and fight?" — 
" 'Twere vain — a struggle thus by night, 
And with such numbers. If we're ta'en. 
We can at last be only slain." 

II. 

The Indians came, but nothing said. 

Bound fast their arms, then mutely led 

A rapid course, by devious flights. 

Sometime they climbed the rocky heights, 

That ne'er a footstep might be left ; 

Sometimes along the rugged cleft 

Of scaly precipice would pass, 

Or through the deep dell's dark morass, 

Or pebbly stream, or stony path, 

Where once had swept a torrent's wrath, 

Or light along some pool-like lake 

Whose ripples o'er their steps might break— 

The waning moon still higher pacing, 

Her dead in faded arms embracing. 

But when the Morn awoke young Day, 

The binding thongs they took away, 

Yet onward roamed the solitudes 

Of mountain, plain, or tangled woods, 

In warrior Indian's wily mode. 



TECUMSEH. 193 



Each treading where the foremost trode ; 
And often, circling round a place, 
Would thence depart divergent ways, . 
With backward steps, then softly tread 
Along some streamlet's sandy bed, 
For many a rood, that every trace 
The gliding waters might efface. 



And now another night was past, 
Another day departing fast : — 
" Look ! — Did the Lynx-eye nothing see V 
Exclaimed the leader suddenly, 
And pointed to a hill-top high. 
"A fox, Ojeeb !" was the reply. — 
"Ay — but an Ottowa fox, I ween." — 
" The Ottowa would not thus be seen."— 
" Well — open eye and hand prepared 
May serve quick need." — Each silent fared 
Along the winding vale awhile. 
Until it grew a deep defile, 
When springing forward suddenly, 
0-wa-o-la, whose restless eye 
Had each minutest thing espied 
Through all the vale on either side. 
Drew forth an arrow from the ground, 
And bow with bloody wampum bound : 
"A warning hand hath placed them here. 
Death in the dell is lurking near !" 



No word was said. With boundings light, 
They scaled the hill-side gained the height. 
And far along had urged their flight, 
And fast were fleeing — wildly rose 
The angry yell of baffled foes — 
The V eath-bolts flew — like thunder cloud, 
16* 



194 TECUMSEH. 

There burst the dark dell's fringy shroud, 
With steps of storm and shoutings loud, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa, his eyes on fire, 
With warriors wild in war's attire. 
Despite their wiles and cautious haste, 
He had each devious winding traced, 
With skill, which nothing could delude. 
And feet as swift, as e'er pursued 
Hates flying victim clearly viewed. 

V. 

Both who pursued and who would flee 
Sprung each behind rock, mound, or tree. 
The wily strife began amain— 
These, seeking safe their boats to gain. 
That lay beside the just seen lake. 
Those, baffled guile's revenge to slake. 
From rock to rock, with ceaseless sound. 
From tree to tree, from mound to mound. 
The whistling shot were sped around, 

The flinted arrows flew ; 
Whoop answered whoop, and yell to yell. 
As here or there one leaped and fell. 
And wildly echoed hill and dell 

The affrighted forest through : 
The living fight — defied — defying — 
In death the fallen taunt the dying. 



And now by short and sudden flights, 
Like low morass's glancing lights. 
Was won with loss their perilous way, 
Till but a rugged hill-side lay 
Between them and the welcome lake. 
At signal given, like deer they break 
From coverts each, and headlong rush 
Down over rock, and brier, and bush ; 



TECUMSEH. 195 

Follows the yell of mad surprise, 
And leaden hail around them fliest 
And clouds of arrows cleave the skies, 
And those who fall, no more to rise. 

Of them that fly before, 
Are heeded not — the dead must find 
Their own revenge — with steps of wind 
The angry tempest sweeps behind. 

And thunders to the shore. 

VII. 

There close around each floating bark 
More deadly grew the strife, and dark. 
" Revenge !" the maddened Ottowas cry. 
" Revenge !" the rocky woods reply. 
The sand and slippery stones among 
The war-club's fearful weight was swung. 
Deep, deeper in the rocking tide 
The hatchet's fatal edge was plied, 
While, where they strove the waves beneath. 
The sharp knife found a shuddering sheath, 
Till, rising from that mutual slaughter. 
Their corses floated o'er the water. 
Whose grasp of hate no shock might sever. 
Locked in that last embrace for ever. 
Wild was the fury — long the fray ; 
And when at last was borne away 

One bark with Moray's life, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa's yell of phrenzy rose. 
And faster showered his stormy blows. 

And fiercer closed the strife. 
For flight or chase the boat to gain, 
That floated still among the slain — 

With rage the air was rife — 
The rocky shores and rended sky 
Echoed with whoop and battle-cry, 



196 TECUMSEH. 

Grew black each brow, and blazed each eye, 
And reeking low or flashing high 
Were steely axe and knife : — 
The golden sand lay drunk and red 
Beneath the dying and the dead. 
At length the wounded few, o'erborne — 
When first some stealthy foot had torn 
The sheathing of their frail canoe — 
Dove through the wave, nor rose to view, 
To yield their watchful foes a mark, 
Till safe within the rescued bark. 



In haste the Ottowas launched, and plied 
Swift oars of vengeance o'er the tide; 
But soon their rent and sinking boat 
Left them upon the wave afloat. 
With angry whoops and splashing hand. 
They turned and struggled towards the land, 
WhiJe loud their foes' exulting laughter 
Above their heads came pealing after. 
Oh ! quickly changed to maddened cries 
Triumphant scorn, as saw their eyes 
The Ottowas, o'er the watery swells, 
With busy grasp and fiendish yells. 
Scalp the cold corses on the billows — 
As tossed they with their tossing pillows—- 
And wave the ghastly trophies high. 
And gash, what could no farther die ! 

IX. 

The strife is o'er. As on they sweep 
Through twilight shades along the deep, 
They see from off the bloody strand, 
Amid his baffled, shattered band, 
Ken-hat-ta-wa shake his gory hand ; 



TECUMSEH. 

But who upon that summit high — 
So softly limned against the sky, 
That sheds a purer azure there — 
A sunset cloud, a form of air. 

Waves them a green branch o'er the water? 
By form ard garb and ebon bow, 
You should a youthful hunter know ; 
But by those chiselled features fair, 
That swelling breast and floating hail?, 

She looks a chieftain's daughter. 



The chieftain saw that form of grace, 

And sabler lowered his stormy face. 

He bounded up with fiery leap, 

And stood before her on the steep. 

" What art thou "?" broke he, stern and high. 

While glared his dark, dilated eye. 

" A chieftain's child" she ansv/ering raised 

An eye as proud, and firmly gazed. 

" A chieftain's child ] — a captive's scorn ! 

Base maid ! thou art not Indian born ! 

Some pale-face did thy vileness rear ! 

By thee the Ottowa's oath's a jeer : 

By thee have met in Death's embrace 

Thy mother's and thy father's race. 

From which may grow a ceaseless strife — - 

And all to save a pale-daj's life^ 

Whose race the red- men doom to slaughter. 

A traitress thou — the Ottowa's daughter 1 

What hinders, that I should not hurl 

Thee down to death, degenerate girl V 

XI. 

She led him to the utmost verge : 

" Look ! deep and dark their course they urge ! 



197 



19d TECUMSEH. 

Look ! — let my sire to such a grave 
Commit in wrath the life he gave ; 
But let his child dishonor not 
His name by benefits forgot. 
If pale-face and a foeman he, 
Yet I will not an ingrate be. 
Worst traitor to the red-man's cause 
Is he, who breaks the red-man's laws : 
And how shall not our hearts be free 1 
Manitto, judge 'twixt me and thee !" — 
"But knew'st thou not, thy father might 
Sink, girl, amid the certain fight? 
What if Ken-hat-ta-wa were slain? — 
Oh ! thus thou wouldst all license gain ! 
Thus o'er the tribe of Pontiac reign !" 
A shade subdued the maiden's eye. 
And tremulous was her reply : 
" Nay, father J — On her mother's tomb, 
And thine, Omeena's flowers should bloom 
And she would weep and long lament, 
Yet ne'er her gratitude repent. 
Of Pontiac's race, Omeena's mind 
May change not with the changing wind." 
" Thou hast thy father's soul, ray child," 
Returned the admiring chief, more mild : 
** Thou hast but done as I would do. 
But hear me, girl. — There is a foe, 
My hatred more, my wrath, my scorn, 
Than all the pale-faced cowards born: 
And if thy girlish love to him 
Thou give, I'll tear thee limb from limb, 
And to the waves and winds of heaven 
Thy yet warm ashes shall be given ; 
Nor shall Tecumseh live to mourn 
The grace, that never may return !" 



T£CUMS£H. 199 



XII. 

The twilight deepened. Well they knew, 
That birchen vessel's wily crew, 
In any place, by day or night, 
To land would but renew the %ht ; 
So must they boldly push, perforce, 
Across the lake their rapid course. 
But ne'er the deep was calmer seen, 
Nor heaven of more unruffled mien : 
Skiffs live, when sleep the ocean waves — 
They wake, and strong ships find their graves. 
— The twilight deepens : but the skies 
Still show some soft celestial dies. 

Where the departing day hath set ; 
As, when have fallen the shades of death, 
Unto the eye of sorrowing Faith 
The confines of two worlds are given, 
Bright with the glorious hues of Heaven, 

Where Time Eternity hath met: 
And just above the darkening west, 
Pale Dian lifts her faded crest. 
That all the day her path serene 
Hath trod content to be unseen. 
And now, like some fair victim of decay, 
Hovers above her grave with sad, sweet ray. 

XIII. 

Along the winding coast awhile 
They swept their course with easy toil. 
And down Keweena's shadowy shore 
Whereon its western waters roar. 
Then sped them fearless, far and free, 
Forth on that wide and silent sea. 
Soon land was lost, nor aught around, 
Save dimness, could the distance bound ; 
"Vanished the glory of the day. 



200 TECUMSEH. 

And heaven grew pale ; the distant wave 
Received the meek moon to her grave : 
But soon with more prevailing ray 
The stars come forth ; a deeper blue 
Doth all their silent courts imbue. 



The stars came forth. Upon his throne 
Each watched his realm prescribed, alone, 
With calm and changeless countenance ; 
And from their gaze, o'er all th' expanse 
Of waters, like a mighty spell, 
A strange and awful stillness fell. 
All was the deep repose of thought ; 
No sound the ear of listener caught ; 
The waves were hushed ; the calm, pure air 
Awoke no creeping ripple there-^ 
Just stirred, all infinite and lone. 
Like breathings of the world unknown. 
So still — above — around — beneath — 
All might have seemed the reign of Death, 
But that with an unfailing light 
The stars' immortal brows were bright, 
And with their glorious presence made 
That solemn, that mysterious shade, 
O'er sky, earth, air, and waters given» 
A spiritual life. All heaven 
Came down upon the deep, and, glassed 
In its unruffled mirror vast, 
Swelled far below, as boundless, clear, 
Into another hemisphere, 
And with as bright a firmament 
Around its dim horizon bent. 
Whence upward gazed its host of stars 
Upon those moving mariners. 
As when the parted soul doth stray 
From Earth beyond the solar way^ 



TECUMSEH. 201 

Till in the deepening distance far 

The sphered sun becomes a star, 

The circling vastness, awed and stilled, 

All, all with countless orbs is filled, 

And, whereso'er that spirit turns, 

One wide immortal radiance burns : 

So moved they, hung- two heavens between, 

"Whose crowded worlds on worlds w^ere seen. 

Where'er they gazed, in awe profound. 

The bright circumference around. 

Amazed they moved, all sounds forbore, 

Save the light dipping of the oar, 

And scarce their hearts dare beat to tell 

Their spirits yet within them dwell ; 

For, as they glide, the Indian deems 

He passeth to the Land of Dreams, 
While to his consciousness wrapt Moray seems 
Drifting, O where ! o'er being's boundless sea, 
Unknown, unmeasured, dread Eternity. 

XV. 

Day dawned on starlight. At one stride 
Rushed up the sun, and waters wide 
Burned red beneath his level ray. 
And yet they only half iheir way 
Across that mighty lake had won. 
All day they toiled : but when the sun 
Was sinking in the deep again. 
Afar uprose a rocky chain 
Of mountain coast, to north and east 
Stretched darkly in eternal rest. 
With shadowy heights, grotesque and wild. 
Crag over crag enormous piled 
A thousand feet above the wave, 
Dell, forest, precipice, and cave. 
And ruined ridges rudely hurled, 
The barriers of the watery world, 
17 



202 TECUMSEH. 

When rolled the deluge-wrath of Heaven 
And earth's foundation-rocks were riven. 
But veering to the west they ran, 
And landed ere the heights began, 
Where, bathed in sunset, low and green, 
A hundred little isles were seen — 
Drew high their bark — then by its side 
Wooed welcome slumber, long denied : 
The still, near waters all night long 
Murmured a low and quiet song. 



Ere shuts her eye the morning star, 
They wend upon their journey far ; 
But lingers not the Muse to tell 
Their windings all by deep and dell. 
Suffice, at times they bear their bark 
Aloft through woody portage dark ; 
At times their quick oars lightly break 
The blue of some pellucid lake. 
Where seldom aught one trembling brings, 
One motion's evanescent rings, 
Except the wild-bird's glancing wings ; 
And all around them, low and high. 
The gush of living melody 
Is heard, and every turn displays 
Some fresher beauty, fairer grace, 
Low shores that wind with pebbly pave, 
Where willows droop upon the wave. 
Or, steeper built, with wild-vines hung, 
And briers, their ruined clefts among. 
Sweet shaded vales, and many a stream. 
Whose banks the Indian well might deem 
Would Fairies haunt by moonlight gleam, 
Dells, thickets green, and ridges gray 
Where scarce the hunted deer would stray 



TECUMSEH. 203 

And over all huge forests hoar, 
Waving their old arms evermore. 

XVII. 

The third day saw their gliding forms 
In silence coast the Lake of Storms, 
Whose shores had given a kindred race 
An immemorial dwelling-place. 
The dusky warriors thronged at view 
With rudest welcome's wild haloo. 
And hasted, in their wigwams near, 
To spread their feast of choicest cheer. 
Sincere their joy 7 — Go, haply born 
To polished pride, enlightened scorn. 
And taught at Nature's gifts to sneer — 
Go — search the world around, where'er 
Man dwells, from Afric's solar glow 
To Hecla's flame or Zembla's snow. 
And thence where swarthy tribes behold 
The Arctic's frozen mountains rolled, 
And thou shalt find the tear and smile, 
That fears alarm, that hopes beguile, 
And that a thousand fountains start 
In each, as any, human heart. 

xviri. 

Meantime was nothing asked or said, 

Or in their guarded features read. 

Concerning Moray ; from each eye 

Was banished curiosity. 

Though it the while but stronger burned, 

Within each silent breast inurned. 

Gravely the chieftain circle round. 

The pipe was passed, with pause profound ; 

Then briefly did Ojeeb declare 

The reason of their presence there. 



204 TECUM SEH. 

Rose fierce debate. Some urged their vow, 

No more to spare the pale-faced foe ; 

Then how the welcome hand bestow ? 

No ! let him fall before their eyes, 

Great A-re-ous-ki's sacrifice ! 

Others, that none may vainly come 

For refuge to the red-man's home. 

— With wrinkled brows, where public care 

Sat like a hermit gray, and hair 

Made white and thin by ninety snows, 

The sachem Nidi Wyan rose, 

And bade, while reverently they hear, 

The stranger to his eyes appear. 



" Pale-face" he said, approaching near. 

With accents tremulous but clear : — 

" The great lake heard the conflict high; 

Its waves are blood, and many lie 

Too low to rise ; their deathless minds 

Are floating on the sighing winds. 

But thou art here. — We welcome thee. — 

Thou wouldst return. — It may not be. 

Sweet is the voice of brooks that flow 

Around our father's home ; but know, 

Ken-hat-ta-wa with all his train 

Will watch for thee by lake and plain ; 

And many a tribe would gladly win 

His powerful peace by blood of thine. 

Nay, more. The red-man's race have sworn 

Their glory past no more to mourn. 

But rise united now, and sweep 

The pale-face to one lasting sleep. 

Then whither couldst thou flee, and meet 

No foeman's quick avenging feet 1 

But listen. Vainly Wyan calls. 

When morning wakes or evening falls : 



TECUMSEH. 805 



Nor sons nor kin on earth remain 
To answer him — he calls in vain ! 
And Nidi groweth old apace. 
Soon faileth, in tiie bounding chase, 
His foot to track the wolf and roe, 
His hand in war to strike the foe. 
Thy foot is fleet — thy hand is strong — 
Thy years to be are bright and long. 
Thou — thou shalt be his son instead, 
Nor harm from any foeraan dread ; 
And how beloved and honored he. 
Who Nidi Wyan's son shall be !" 
To slight such care or seek to fly 
Well Moray knew would be to die ; 
And soon became, with simple forms, 
A chieftain by the Lake of Storms. 



*Twere long to tell the weariness 
Of every day's unnamed distress, 
Of doubts, fears, memories, that brought 
Eternity of aching thought ; 
And, worse than all to Sorrow's eye. 
That ocean of uncertainty, 
Which hath no ebb, no flow, no zone, 
Dark, boundless, fathomless, unknown. 
And yet his varied life might well. 
Could aught, such weariness dispel. 
As lustful Summer passed away. 
And hale old Autumn, changing gray. 
Came slowly on, that aged one. 
Who deeply loved his stranger son, 
He left at last, and followed far. 
With hunters, towards the northern star 
The ceaseless chase ; or sought, with care 
Of cunning skill, to trap and snare 
17* 



206 TECUM SEH. 

The soft-furred, harmless things, that make 
Their dwellings fast by stream and lake. 
The Huron ever by his side, 
Whose care a brother's love supplied, 
Wild u^as the world he roamed, and strange, 
Through all the red-man's mighty range — 
From that broad Mirror of the Woods, 
That o'er its own dark spirit broods 
Like weird enchanter's shadowy glass, 
On, where the As-sin-i-boines harass 
The roving deer by Moose's tide, 
And Man-i-to-ba's waters wide 
Hear spirit sounds at stilly noon 
Or underneath the hanging moon ; 
And thence, where Winepeek's broad breast 
Lay filled with heaven's unclouded rest ; 
And, past blue Bourbon's haunted sleep, 
Where, in the chase or battle's sweep, 
Wild Knisteneaux undaunted brave 
The Sas-ka-tchaw-an's gelid wave. - 



Through all this region roaming round, 
Where'er their game the Indians found, 
A thousand plains he traversed o'er, 
No white man's foot had trod before ; 
A thousand wandering streams he crossed, 
That seemed in depth of forests lost ; 
A thousand lonely lakes surveyed. 
That ne'er before their face displayed 
To other than the Indian's gaze, 
Or wending elk's through trackless maze 
And from a thousand mountains high 
Viewed the wide woods and smoky sky. 
But still, where'er he bent his eyes, 
One form with every scene would rise ; 



TECUMSEH. 

O'er every plain he saw it near, 
As forms in reveries appear ; 
From every glassy lake 'twas shown, 
How sadly fair ! beside his own ; 
In every streamlet's murmuring noise 
He heard but Mary's gentle voice ; 
On every mountain's height he stood. 
And, turning, o'er the boundless wood 
Through unimaginable space 
Beheld afar her faded face ! 



And when from out the icy north 
Stern Winter stretched his sceptre forth — 
When lake and stream were fettered fast, 
And througii the hollow woods the blast 
Moaned fitfully a dirge, and loud. 
Above the dead year in his shroud. 
Around their wigwam fires the while 
Strange tales were told, that might beguile 
The long nights — such as haunt their minds 
Ever, as do the clouds and winds 
The troubled bosom of the deep : — 
How dark-haired Fairies revels keep. 
With braided dance in endless maze. 
Beneath the pale moon's tranquil blaze — 
How men to fishes, beasts and birds 
Have oft been changed — what fearful words 
Been heard, of most mysterious power. 
In the deep woods at midnight hour — 
What shapes enrobed in clouds appear 
Where high the Sable Hills uprear 
Their stormy brows — what glories blaze, 
Dazzling the eyes that dare to gaze. 
The Shining Mountains round, which hold 
Uncounted stores of pearl and gold^ 



207 



208 TECUMSEH. 

While past their heights, in light excelling, 
The God of Thunders hath his dwelling ; — 
And how in vast Superior stands 
The glittering Isle of Golden Sands, 
Whose treasures, idly splendid there, 
To take or touch no hand may dare. 
For gilded serpents watch unsleeping, 
And, 'neath the waves dark vigils keeping, 
A spirit, like a thunder cloud. 
Dilated strides with threatenings loud. 
All these with not incurious ear, 
So sitting by, he could but hear ; 
Yet still, oh ! still, his soul would stray 
To one loved form— away — away. 

XXIII. 

Vanished the snows. A deadly feud, 

Which had for untold years imbrued 

The Chippewas and fiery Sioux 

In ceaseless, wasting slaughter, grew 

Yet deeper now, by hunters slain 

And left upon the frozen plain. 

They had forsworn all mutual strife, 

But Indian law was — life for life, 

And by that rage on Wabash shore 

The far-linked league was now no more. 

Joined with their kindred of the lake, 

A swift and silent course they make, 

Till now at dawn the foe are spied 

By Mississippi's earlier tide. 

Ere swells and sweeps his kingly pride. 

The whoop was given — the forests rung — 

Like panthers on their foes they sprung; 

Not unprepared, the fearless Sioux 

With answering yells to meet them flew. — 

Fierce was the strife ; but ere that Earth 

Took many of her savage birth 



TECUMSEH. 200 

Back to her breast, from out the wood 
A plumed and chieftain warrior strode. 
Ere yet an instant was he seen, 
He rushed their mingling ranks between. 
" Stay — stay your frantic strife !" he cried 
With voice of thunder — " stay !" replied 
The echoing hills ; and at the sight. 
And at the voice, they stayed the fight, 
And stood, as if to earth they grew, 
For all the great Tecumseh knew. 
Then thus upon the deep suspense 
Broke forth his fiery eloquence. 

XXIV. 

" Great chieftains ! — warriors ! — ye that roam 

Far towards Wakondah's shining home ! — 

Ye from the lake of Mighty Waters ! — 

What means this madness 1 — Why in slaughters 

So ceaseless on each other prey, 

While war and wasting, day by day. 

The stranger and the pale-face wage 

Upon your fathers' heritage 1 

Have ye so soon forgotten both 

Tecumseh's words and your own oath 1 

Then let him ask ye yet once more — 

Know ye not, knew ye not before, 

That ye are brethren born 1 that ye, 

That red-men wheresoe'er they be. 

Are offspring all of one Great Spirit 1 

That of his gift ye do inherit 

These mountains, streams on every hand, 

Lakes, forests — all this goodly land, 

Whate'er the setting sun surveys 1 

Lo ! what are now departed days 1 — 

Remembrance ! — What the red-man's glory ? — 

It, like the past, but lives in story ! — 

And why ] — Because the pale-face comes 



210 TECUMSEH. 

Amonor the red-man's happy homes. 

His hands are large, his tongue is small; 

He asks a little, grasps at all. 

His deadly rifle daily sounds 

In our ancestral hunting-grounds : 

His axe, his flaming brand, intrudes 

Upon our forest solitudes : 

His great boats from our waters scare 

The fish, that 'scape his greedy snare. 

Nay, more. His plough our graves hath riven 

Our fathers' bones, upturned, are given 

To all the winds and rains of heaven ! 



" O red-men ! shall our souls endure 
Such wrongs, unheeding and secure ] 
Say, shall our fathers' spirits mourn. 
That such by us, their sons, are borne ] 
No — let the hatchet and the knife 
Drink up the white-man's guilty life ! 
My people, many tribes, have said, 
The great deep rivers shall be red 
"With his cold blood. But still we are 
Too few to move so great a war. 
We ask your help. Are ye dismayed, 
That in their madness some are laid 
By Wabash banks 1 — If all unite 
Our whoop and war-path shall affright 
The foe's pale hearts.— Or deem ye, here 
Ye have but distant cause to fear 
Invasion of your rights ] — Away 
With such delusion, while ye may 
Unforced by ruin. On the shore 
That hears the great salt billows roar, 
And sees the sun rise from the past, 
Not many winters since, harassed, 



i 



TECUMSEH. 211 

And cold and lone, the white-man stepped. 

Lo ! welcomed, warmed, they now have crept, 

These hearth-thawed, poisonous, cherished snakes, 

By river, mountain, plain and lakes ; 

They 've left in every flowery vale, 

By every spring, their sHmy trail ; 

Until they rear their pallid crests. 

And build their swarming noisome nests, 

By Erie and by Huron's side 

And Mississippi's turbid tide ! 

No ! vain your hope. We swept away, 

Yourselves will fall an easy prey. 

XXVI. 

" Brothers — 'tis ours to crush them all 

And leave not one to mourn their fall : 

For our great father o'er the deep 

Is angry with this race, that creep 

Into our homes ; and he hath sent 

Men — arms — a mighty armament. 

To aid us. — Hark ! From yonder cloud 

The God of Thunders speaks aloud. 

He — He is angry with the foe ! 

He will unto the battle go ! 

Brothers — this belt of wampum drank 

Blood where in death our brethren sank. 

♦ Revenge !' I hear their spirits cry. 

Who draws this gory war-belt nigh 1 — 

Who lingereth back, his name shall be 

A vile, unhonored memory, 

And o'er his recreant grave, when dead. 

The white-man's spurning foot shall tread !" 

XXVII. 

He ceased. His burning \yords had caught 
Chords deeper than the fiery thought 



212 TECUMSEH. 

Of mutual wrongs, and crowding round, 

Though still their brows with conflict frowned, 

Each grasped the battle's crimson token. 

By each the fearful oath was spoken, 

Upon the stranger's blood to tread. 

Till fall the stars, the sun be dead. 

But wherefore stands he still and stern. 

Nor takes the oath when comes his turn. 

Nor with their kindled fury warms — 

That chieftain from the Lake of Storms 1 

On Moray every gaze was fixed. 

Of rising rage and wonder mixed ; 

For Indians deem it deepest shame. 

When, whatsoe'er his race or name. 

The once-adopted fails to stand 

Fast with his tribe in heart and hand. 

Each Chippewa in tawny face 

Burned livid, like a furnace blaze ; 

A silent triumph, shrined with scorn, 

Was on the Sioux' wild features born ; 

While glared Tecumseh's glowing eye 

With meaning, fierce intensity. 

And ev'n the Huron turned away, 

Ashamed of that so strange delay. 

Yet moves he not ; his manly brow 

And eye his firm resolves avow. 

How shall he raise the hand so base, 

Against his country, name and race) 

A moment more, and nought might save 

The recreant from a recreant's grave ; 

But Nidi-Wyan, who had come. 

The old, the wise, so far from home. 

Once more their councils to mspire, 

Discerned with fear the rising fire. 

He rose and led him, unrestrained, 

Till, past the view, a height was gained. 



TECIJMSEH. 213 



That, steeply reared within the wood, 
O'erlooked from high the rushing flood. 



Then paused the chief, hut nothing spake. 

Lest uncontrolled his grief should break. 

The waters glided far below, 

The wind was soft as lover's vow, 

Green leaves were opening, one by one, 

And slowly rose the regal sun. 

" The adopted pale-faced brave is young," 

At last he said with faltering tongue ; 

" Lives yet a sire his love to claim ?'* — 

" My father's blessing with me came." — 

•* And could the old man yet rejoice 

To hear the low wind> and the voice 

Of running waters ? Was his eye 

Made glad to look upon the sky. 

The green trees, and the rising sun?" 

" My father had not yet begun 

To be o'erborne with weight of years," 

Said Moray, and with gathering tears, 

As rose his aged sire to mind. 

" Return, my son, that still the wind, 

The streams, the trees, the sun's glad light. 

May soothe his ear and joy his sight ! 

To Nidi Wyan's spirit now 

They vainly shine, they vainly flow. 

Soon will his joyless days be o'er — 

And all his race are gone before ! 

A withered tree will press the plain. 

To whom nor roots nor boughs remain. 

No son will rise to call him blest, 

And lay him in our mother's rest ! 

Yet go — and tell that aged one. 

The red-chief made thee once his son : 

18 



And let thv r>i51rJrn-'<5 oMidren learn- 



In saaiiecjs iuora}' pa^^^_ ; .^e chief 
Returned, and after silence brief 
Arose th' admiring throng before : — 
" He is a Chippewa no more. 
Let none pursue him. In his stead 
Will Nidi to the battle lead." 

XXIX. 

Between Superior's southern coast 

And, dimly reared, her mountain host, 

Filled with the heavens and balmy air, 

Reposed a vale as soft and fair, 

As e'er beguiled the hastening stream 

To linger in unconscious dream, 

Or made the arrowy sunbeams play 

With shadows all an April day. 

Once, rising all its windings o'er. 

Low shrubs and lofty trees it bore, 

But, by the tortuous whirlwind swept, 

Mid silent \voods now greenly slept, 

So lonely in its slumber there. 

It seemed a spirit's haunt of prayer. — 

No youth were there to urge sweet wooing. 

What were the mirthful maidens doing 1 

— Their heads with leaves and blossoms crowned, 

In twinkling change around and round. 

About their gathered boughs and flowers, 

As lightly as the Elves and Hours, 

Omeena and her maidens sing 

With welcomes blithe, the present Spring. 



i 



TECITMSEH. 215 

XXX. 
THE VERNAL HYMN. 

SEMI-CHORUS I. 

*"N'ya ! thou comest ! 

We see thy presence here 

Relume the faded year : 

But where was thy bough-rocked birth, 

Thou joy of the desolate earth ! 

Grim winter was scared at thy smile, 

He hath fled to his ice-caverned isle. 
Stormy and cold is his dungeon there, 
Darkly he lies in his frozen despair : 
Thou brightly aloft on thy dew-dropping pinions 
Art journeying over his joyless dominions, 
And the earth looks as fresh, with her sons and her daughters, 
As when first she rose green on the face of the waters ! 

N' ya ! we greet thee. 

See, see, how the flowers are springing. 
And to them how the wild birds are singing ! 
Look, look, how the waters do tremblingly haste, 
To be on the lake's sunny bosom embraced ! 
Wherever thou smil'st there's a turning 
Of beauty to beauty with yearning. 
And all things have a look as a lover may have — 
Ah ! wouldst thou but smile on the hearts of the brave !" 

SEMI-CHORUS II. 

N'ya ! thou comest, 
O child of the light and the air ! 
Thou wast born in the sun-braided west. 
On the summer-lake isles of the blest. 
And thy presence is every where ! 
The earth beneath 
Hath felt thy breath— 

*Chippewa exclamation, equivalent to " Lo !" or ** Behold!" 



216 TECUMSEH. 

She arouseth her soul from the torpors of Death, 
As a serpent may, 
And casteth away, 
For a glorious garment, her robe of decay, 
And rejoicing, in beauty the while, 
Renev/eth her manifold toil I 

N'ya ! we greet thee ! 
The Wekolis sings to his love 
In the shades of the whispering grove, 
And the Miscodeed blushes alone in the dell 
Where the Spirit-bird warbles so passingly well, 
And wherever thou breathest are born, 
At eve or the dew-weeping morn. 
Such sighs as the lips of a lover may have — 
Ah ! wouldst thou but breathe on the heart, of the brave 

CHORUS. 

The Moon of Plants is brightly past — 

Green, greener grow the woods ! 
The moon of Flowers is come at last — 

Bright, brighter glance the floods ! — 
We know thy viewless wings have fanned 
The brightness of the Spirit-land i 
We hear thy voice— O speak and tell 
Of those, the loved, the mourned so well I 
Did they or thought or message send 
To kindred dear or grieving friend 1 
And is their being wrapped in bliss ] — 
O tell us. Spirit, tell us this ! — 
Hark, sisters, from the Dreamy Shore 
The whispered voice — to mourn no more. 
For there immortally they move 
Through boundless light and changeless love. 
Return, O breathing air, return. 
And say, not many moons shall burn 

Their wasting fires away, 
Before, as birds, our sorrowing minds 
Shall float upon the voiceful winds 



i 



TECUMSEH. 

To them and tearless day ! — 
N'y^! N'ya! we hail again, 
Soul of the world, thy joyous reign !" 

XXXI. 

While they thus plied their beating feet 

To notes most musical and sweet. 

So stealing on the silence there 

They might almost create an ear 

To listless space, Omeena's eye 

Caught gleaming through the green-wood nigh, 
That clothed the adverse steep, a gaze. 
Which startled her. In careless phrase 

She said to her companions by, 

*Twas meet among the flowers to have 

Some gathered from the pale-one's grave ; 

Then, with a secret sign and look, 

A sauntering, lonely course she took 

Along the vale and near the brook. 

Soon standing in the smiles of day 

With Moray and O-wa-o-la, 

Beside the resting-place of her. 

Earth's poor heart-broken wanderer. 

No word they spoke, but bowed each head 

In sorrow o'er the early dead. 

XXXII. 

It was a place for such a sleep 
Most sweet — a gently rising steep. 
Whose fallen trees, decayed and gone, 
Left it unshadowed, green and lone. 
Whereon the beams that brightly fell 
Seemed with a silent joy to dwell. 
The grave — 'twas but a lowly mound 
Scarce known from other earth around, 
Save by a simple stone or two. 
O'er which had just begun to grow 
18* 



217 



218 TECUMSEH. 

The soft brown moss ; around, between, 
The velvet grass was braiding green, 
And near full many a flower was set, 
The wilding-rose and violet. 
That, drooping with their tears of dew, 
Their sad and gentle birth-place knew. 
And thus, in that most lone decay, 
She slept, a thousand leagues away 
From the green island of her birth. 
That one beloved spot on earth, 
To which her fondest heart had turned 
With life-consuming thoughts, that burned 
Too deep, till, spent their fuel frail, 
Were left but ashes cold and pale. 
Peace to them ! Calmly there they slept. 
As if above them had been wept 
The tears of kindred, though arose 
Dark mountains, lay in dread repose 
Wide woods, and rolled the ocean waves 
Between them and her kindred's graves. 
What matter where our dust to dust be given T 
O'er all the earth there bendeth one bright Heaven 

XXXIII. 

" Why weeps my brother for the lost. 

Whose spirit now no more is crossed ]" 

A low voice broke the silence long : — 

" Thou hear'st glad birds renew their song, 

Thou see'st the young leaves greet the spring : 

But never would Omeena bring 

Back to its wo, if by a word. 

The withered leaf, the weary bird ! — 

But wherefore is the pale-face here V 

She said, and brushed the swelling tear. — 

" I know not why. It is in vain 

I traverse forest, lake, and plain ; 

Vainly Omeena tracked, unseen. 

Through woods, and hills, and marshes green, 



TECUMSEH. 

Her sire, where'er his feet pursued 
My life, since never yet is viewed 
Her face, for which alone that life 
Is worth with pain one moment's strife." 

XXXIV. 

"Rememberest thou," the maid exclaimed, 
" Last year another captive named. 
Lovely and pale, by sadness bowed 1 
Omeena loved the summer cloud. 
One morn she missed its form of light, 
Borne from us by the winds of night. 
In vain my father's search : no more 
Was she beheld by lake or shore. 
But runners, since the moon's return, 
Whose feet to distant tribes were borne 
To bind the league of battle, tell, 
That, where the Mis-sis-sa-gues dwell, 
Beyond the great lake's eastern side. 
And near the mountains high, they spied 
A pale-faced maiden, guarded there. 
While one — her lover deemed — should bear 
Rich presents to the tribes afar, 
From white-men with your race at war. 
She shall not be such lover's bride ! 
Ojeeb will be thy faithful guide : 
Described so sorrowful and meek,. 
She can but be the maid you seek." — 
"Ah ! mock me not ! — but if it be, 
O God ! how hast thou pitied me !" — 
Omeena paused in earnest thought^ 
Then spake : " My brother's path is fraught 
With fear and death on every side ;. 
For ambushed War is watching wide. 
Thou see'st this wreathed and shining shell ; 
'Twas found, where ocean billows swell. 
Long moons ago. The Shawnee brave, 
Tecumseh, to Omeena gave 



220 TECUMSEE. 

This shell, the pledge of memory. 
Take it — and let the eagle's eye 
But mark it, when thou dread'st the knife — 
Then tell him of my rescued life — 
And thou, though of the Ocean Foam, 
Shall fall not in the red-man's home." 
She pulled some flowers from off the grave, 
Made with her hand a parting wave, 
Then lingered not till lost to view. 
The Huron watched her as she flew : — 
What thoughts, which he would ne'er impart. 
Were burning in his youthful heart 1 
But Moray laid one wild-rose in his breast. 
Then turned forever from the wanderer's rest. 

XXXV. 

'Twas evening. On the heights, that breast 

Superior rolling from the west» 

Their splintered peaks and ridges gray. 

Were glorious with departing day ; 

But eastward far their shadows fell, 

Broad-cast, o'er valley, stream and dell. 

At entrance of a wide ravine. 

Beneath that deepening shade, were seen 

Some scattered huts of simplest form. 

Light poles with skins, to shed the storm. 

Encompassed cone-like : slowly wreathed, 

From each the still blue smoke was breathed. 

No warrior's manly form appeared. 

For they loud Battle's whoop had heard : 

But oft the dusky black-eyed maid 

Glanced round the wigwams light, and played 

Lithe children in the twilight shade. 

With their brown faces — mid their noise 

Oft hushed by shrill maternal voice : 

Save such and eve's low breath, no sound 

Heard the high forests stretched around. 



TECUMSEH. 221 

Beside the hut, that nearest stood 
Before that wild glen's darkening wood, 
One maiden sat, not like the rest, 
But worn, and pale, and thought-opprest, 
Even as the lonely snow-wreath lies 
Beneatli rude March's changeful skies. 
Ah ! if in her thou dost behold 
The maid whose wanderings are untold, 
Think not, thou gazer, such a change 
Came but by sufferings long and strange ! 
How wan was she, how worn with care, 
But oh ! most spiritually fair ; 
And on that face the utter grief, . 
Stamped like November's hopeless leaf. 
Changed never — to its wo resigned. 
The shadow of the inward mind, 
To which, long desolate, was given 
No hope, except the grave and Heaven. 



She saw the mountains gilded yet — 

But dark their shadows round her met ; 

She gazed upon the far, bright years — 

Their shades were on her soul, and tears 

Filled her fair eyes, when suddenly 

An Indian from the glen drew nigh. 

She started not — familiar grown 

With all the forms to terror known. 

With careless step he passed the maid,. 

Upon her shoulder lightly laid. 

Of birchen bark, a plaited fold. 

Surprised she looked — the scroll unrolled^- 

And saw — O God ! what magic name. 

That such a change upon her came 1 

She started up — the blood rushed high — 

And all her soul was in her eye : — 

" Speak ! speak ! O tell !"— " Hush ! be not heard 

The pale-face seeks the captive bird. 



222 TECUMSEH. 

A moment wait — then rise, and thread 
The winding dell." With noiseless tread, 
Ojeeb then passed the wigwam door 
And sat the wrinkled hag before, 
Who, as she dressed her food, would rise 
And watch the maid with scowling eyes. 
" Ec-quish is good ; she watches well" — 
Thus flatteringly his accents fell : 
— " Does pale-face chief forget her care 1 
Ojeeb brings presents rich and rare" 
He said, and to her gaze displayed, 
With pauses long between, bright braid, 
Of many colored wampum wrought. 
Ribands of all the hues of thought 
And various things of gayer sheen 
Than e'er her woman eyes had seen : 
Ec-quish amid her joy could find 
No thought for cares to her resigned. 
Meantime all tremblingly the maid 
Far up the rugged glen had strayed ; 
She saw no one — she stopped in fear — 
" My Mary !" cried a low voice near, 
And into Moray's folding arms she sank. 
His lips, his eyes, her bursting heart-drops drank. 
The grief, fear, suffering, despair of years. 
Were lost in those brief words, those burning tears ! 

XXXVII. 

Soon came Ojeeb with hurried tread : 

" Squaw loves to see bright things," he said : 

" Now let our steps go swiftly, while 

Old Ec-quish talk to them and smile." 

With speedy hands the girl they laid 

On leafy litter, rudely made. 

And bore her through the w^oods along. 

Rocks, streams, and shaggy dells among. 

All underneath the breathing night, 



223 



Dim brooding, and the solemn light 
Of the cold stars : — the Huron's eyes 
Guarded the rear from all surprise. 
Tne morning broke — they heard the roar 
Of mighty waters — then the shore 
Of the vast lake, to left and right 
Stretched far, with many a frowning height 
Girding her beauty, while to west 
Heaved boundlessly her shadowy breast : 
And down a thousand feet below 
They saw the billows come and go. 
Then turned they south — at silent noon 
Launched forth their secret bark — and soon 
Were bearing down St. Mary's stream. 
Wrapt in their all-unheeding dream, 
Unto the twain beloved, that hour, 
There was nor fear, nor care, nor power 
Of past or future, nor recall 
To the void earth, but, all in all, 
One moveless present, wherein whirled 

The change no more of time, nor place, 
Nor their ov/n minds : — they were the world. 

And, folded in their half embrace, 

Sat gazing on each other's face, 
Their souls away. But restlessly 
O-wa-o-la with anxious eye 
Watched either shore. " Row ! — faster row !' 
He cried with voice alarmed but low : 
" Haste ! haste, Ojeeb — we are pursued !" 
With yell and bound, burst through the wood 
Seven savage forms, with one that bore 
The white-man's garb, and from the shore 
Thrust forth a boat, and, with their might. 
In swift rage chased the startled flight. 



224 TECUMSEH. 

XXXVIII. 

" De Vere !— O fiend !" the lover cried, 

And with the strength of phrenzy plied 

The bending oar. Fast, fast they flew, 

But faster yet the savage crew 

Pursued, with gestures fiercely flung. 

And whoops wherewith the wild shores rung ; 

While in the bow De Vere stood high 

And urged them on, as they drew nigh. 

With shout, and oath, and threatening cry : 

But ne'er her gaze of hopeless love 

From Moray would the maiden move ; — 

Her heart's deep springs grew deeper there 

In stillness of her pale despair. 

So swept the chase — and now they hear 

The roar of broken waters near. — 

No pause ! — Pursued, pursuers urge 

Yet near and nearer yet the verge 

Of the loud Rapids — there they are ! 

Breaking in madness wide and far — 

The wild — the fearful ! " On— press on ! 

Shrieked Moray — " Back, thou Belial's son ! 

By all that's holy, back, thou wretch !" 

" Fool !" yelled De Vere.—" Fast, faster stretch 

Your oars, brave warriors ! — Fool, give o'er" — 

His words were drowned amid the roar 

Of the torn waters, wildly tost. 

Like sea-gull in the tempest lost. 

The bark shot down through surge and foam, 

And spray, and isles of forest gloom. 

And breakers, o'er the dark rocks borne 

All white with terror ! No return 

Might there be made — down, down they gleamed. 

And hoarser, whiter, faster streamed 

The maniac Rapids, and arose 

O'er ail the war-whoop of their foes, 



TECUMSEH. 

Now near above. In agony 
The lover raised his rifle high— 
The bullet sped — v^^ith bound and yell 
An Indian on the surges fell, 
But not De Vere — a hidden rock 
The frail boat struck, with deadly shock 
That whelmed its wreck — the pale, fair girl, 
Borne down amid the foam and whirl, 
Was the last thing his eyes beheld, 
The savage whoop, in triumph yelled, 
Was the last sound he heard, as eye and ear, 
Swept dark beneath, no more might see nor hear. 

XXXIX. 

He woke — where was he ^^who were they 
That round him stood in war's array 1 — 
In British armour Britons brave, 
And high their fort gleamed o'er the wave. 
He saw De Vere — one flash of thought 
Back to his mind too clearly brought 
That last wild moment. " Where," he cried, 
" Is she who should have been my bride V 
" The waters had a love for her !" 
Was the reply. — " Thou murderer ! 
One moment were my hands unbound, 
Thy blood should dye this beaten ground ! — 
Thus perished 1 — O thou heart of steel, 
Eternity shall make thee feel !" — 
" Wert thou unbound ! — By Wabash tide, 
Methinks thy skill was freely tried I 
And for eternity — I'll wait 
With little care such fancied fate. 
Thou art, 'tis true, raised from the dead — 
But thou shalt try a dungeon's bed ; 
And if more cold the maiden lie, 
Thou'lt thank thine own temerity !" 
19 



235 



226 TECUMSEH. 

Then to the officer De Vere 
Declared by oath and Indians near, 
This Moray had, by threats and bribes. 
Long tampered with the British tribes 
Beyond Superior, even afar 
By waves beneath the northern star. — 
" 'Tis false ! — Yet ah ! since she is gone, 
All now is naught, endured or done : 
What matter where I mourn the while, 
Tn lonely wilds or fortressed isle 1" 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO EIGHTH. 



Dear native land ! if in my secret soul 
The thoughts that rise in solitude to thee 
All times, all hours, I do, with strong control, 
Press back into my bosom, there to be, 
With my own joys and griefs and misery, 
Unuttered mid the vain and noisy crowd, 
Thou wilt absolve me, since not always he 
Hath holiest heart, whose worship is most loud. 
And that is purest prayer, where one alone is bowed. 

Dear native land ! my unregarded lay 
May pass to silence as an idle one, 
Like that frail fly, as Grecian fables say. 
Born with the gloamings of the light begun. 
And coldly dying when the day is done : 
But thou hast names that rise to Glory's eye, 
Like the far mountains to the burning sun, 
Or when he goes, or when his car draws nigh, 
Still standing there the same, eternal, lone and high ! 



228 TECUMSEH. 

And of the names that unto thee belong, 
For ever changeless in thy light to be, 
Few weave them brighter in th' heroic Bong, 
Than his, whose youth was by the rolling sea, 
Whose joy was in its blue immensity, 
Whose hopes of glory, born from out the wave. 
And dearest thoughts, were linked with thine and thee ; 
Vainly may rancorous hands in Perry's grave 
The coffined ashes rake, whose name all time shall save 



The wandering moon, that never stays, 
Howe'er on heavenly paths she tires, 
Had thrice relumed her faded fires. 
And, with her ever tranquil gaze. 
Beheld through all the western clime 
But war and rapine, blood and crime, 
And broken hearts and blazing dwelling, 
Vain man his fellow mortal quelling : 
But, prisoner held by martial law. 
On wave-washed, lonely Macinaw, 
No part could Moray act or see. 
Nor yet, in sooth, he cared to be 
Aught else than such ; for what to him 
Was glaring day, or presence dim 
Of solemn night, or loudest strife. 
With clash of arms, and groaning life 
Reft from the images of God — 
Or aught in mortal days, that trode 
Each other's heels, since joy was fled 
With her, now deemed the cold and dead ! 



But never can the mind be taught 
To dwell alone with torturing Thought, 
Nor bondage suit the noble-souled ; 
And startling, busy Rumor told 



TECUMSEH. 229 

Of conflicts fierce — that louder rung 

War's clarion ocean shores along, 

And that on all the wide frontier 

Tecumseh's gatherings far and near 

Raged like a whirlwind. Thus, at length, 

To Moray came in all its strength 

The wish captivity to flee, 

And with himself no longer be, 

Forgetting in the battle's rage 

His darkened memory's darkest page. 

Vain wish ! As, guarded, day by day 

His feet along the cliffs might stray, 

The far blue billows, wildly tost, 

Oppressed with sense of freedom lost ; 

And as in haunted solitude, 

Each night, through grated casement rude. 

He saw sweet Luna in the wave 

Her palely imaged beauty lave, 

And stars upon the waters sleep. 

O'er which the moaning winds would creep, 

From all its fruitless circuits Thought, 

That ranged in its unjoyous flight 

The eternal and the infinite. 
Still, like the cage-bird freed, was brought 
By its own loneliness, unsought, 
Back to its songless prison there. 
His heart, grown silent with despair ! 
But ever in his sleep were shown 
The life, the world, he once had known ; 
Amid their scenes he moved again. 
Felt all their varied joy and pain. 
And drank, ere yet a wanderer. 
The beauty and the light of her, 
His soul's star in the days that were ; 
For when in peopled dreams we lie, 
The past becomes reality ! 
19* 



230 TECUMSEH. 



III. 



September now was dimly seen 
Advancirg through the forest green. 
Below the ledge, upon whose brows 
The walls and gleaming fortress rose, 
O-wa-o-la one morning stood, 
Or sauntered, as in heedless mood ; 
But Moray knew, that naught befell 
Unmarked by him, and from his cell 
Flung down Omeena's chambered shell, 
Which carlessly the Huron took 
And passed away with sign nor look. 
Days glided by. At evening-fall, 
Far down beneath the steep, high wall, 
The captive saw Tecumseh stand 
With earnest gesturings of his hand, 
While he, to whom they were addressed, 
Seemed to refuse his stern request. 
The chieftain passed. Of hope bereft, 
To his dark mind was Moray left, 
When sudden voices spoke so near, 
He could not choose but list and hear. 
"Ay, soon, for Maiden's need, the fleet 
Goes down the lake. ■ If we may meet 
And sail with it, 'twill save, you know, 
Long journeyings — yes, and peril too." — 
" I know not that ; — your ship will not 
Escape, be sure, from hostile shot. 
Your lady love with Death may wed. 
The cold wave be their bridal bed." — 
" Who fears a fleet ruled by a boy ? 
The girl will laugh at such annoy !" — 
" But why not at the fortress stay. 
Till offers some less dangerous way?" — 
" In such a nest of gay gallants 1 
No ! sooner shall she run the chance 



TECUMSEH. 231 

Of slaughtering shot, and — curse her tongue ! — 

The maid, sir, loves a pensive song !" 

Two tones exclaimed, as, from below 

Where wigwams lay beneath the brow 

Of that gray cliff, to listeners high 

Arose, all sad and tremblingly, 

A voice that, floating on the air, 

Seemed to enchain the stillness there. 

IV. 

SONG. 

" It is in vain my sleepless soul 

Hath asked for thee at morn, or eve, 
Or when the Night her starry scroll 

Unrolled — 'tis left alone to grieve. 

" It is in vain my wearied thought 
May fly from world to world for thee ; 

Unless the dim, cold past be sought, 
Thou never art restored to me. 

" But Memory is faithful yet, 

And still presents thine image near ; 

For how can it with years forget 
The hours, that are for ever dear 1 

" Most sad to me is waking light, 

When I with loneliness remain ; 
But dear the still and dreamy night, 

For then I am with thee again. 

" I saw thee borne beneath the wave. 

To darkness hurried from my eyes ; 
And thou — fro;n out that watery grave 

To me thou never shalt arise. 



232 TECUMSEH. 



" Oh ! on what bright, beloved star 

Hear'st thou the mourning strain I pour, 

That I may watch its face afar. 
And fly to it, when life is o'er ! 

" Cease, cease, my song — thou art but vain ! 

My heavy heart — be still I pray ! 
Or break with this thy throbless pain, 

And let me pass to him away !" 



That sorrowing voice — was it the tone 

To Moray sweet in seasons gone 1 — 

It could not be— for her, he knew, 

The wild, unpitying waters slew. — 

And yet, how sadly like ! Again 

He bent his ear — once more the strain 

Began the soul of space to fill — 

Then harsher accents " fool ! be still !" 

With stifled sobbings, and — a blow, 

Just struggled upwards from below — 

Then all was hushed ; and breathing there 

For that poor maid an earnest prayer. 

Whose voice so called the lost to mind. 

The captive on his couch resigned. 

As clouds and hurrying gales arose. 

His soul and senses to repose. 

'Twas vain. For hours the wizard Thought 

The past's dim phantoms round him brought 

Till, as he heard the midnight wind 

Scare the old haunted woods behind, 

And, far below, with hoarser roar. 

The loud surge lash the beetling shore, 

Close by his cell arose the sound 

Of bodies hurled upon the ground — 



TECUMSEH. 

Then struggling — then, in fragments dashed 
By ponderous stone, the door-way crashed — 
" It is Tecumseh : follow me !" 
Exclaimed a deep voice hurriedly. 
With bounding footsteps Moray sprung, 
And from the prostrate watchman flung 
His light frame o'er the pickets high. 
While rushed behind, with sudden cry, 
Dark forms beneath the midnight sky. 

VI. 

Wild blasts were out — the billows rode 

The deep in terror and abroad 

Were hurrying clouds swept o'er the moon, 

That still by glimpses dimly shone. 

Fast, fast, beyond the fort, they urge 

Along the island's lofty verge. 

Till — hark ! — why looks Tecumseh back ! 

The fearful blood-hound's on their track ! 

Swift was the Indian's flying foot 

But swifter far the savage brute. 

With glowing eye and furious fang. 

The fierce hound on his shoulder sprang. 

But, o'er th' abyss of waters hurled, 

Down, down, through steepy darkness whirled ; 

And, as the piercing yell he gave 

With howling wind and dashing wave 

Was blended high — on — on they fled, 

And rung behind the trampling tread 

Of rushing soldiers. Thence their flight 

They urged oblique, till yawned in sight 

That cratered gorge, along whose verge 

Rose dizzy o'er the foaming surge 

The Giant's Arch. With fearless bound, 

Since there no other pass was found. 

That narrow bridge had Moray gained. 

When, with the strength of steel constrained, 



234 TECUMSEH. 

A Briton's grasp was on his breast. 
Together on the bare rock pressed, 
Full fierce, though brief, in manhood's might 
Their struggle on that fearful height. 
By Moray's strong arm backward wrung, 
From the sharp edge his foeman swung : — 
" Save me ! — O God !" — It was too late ! 
Huge fragments witii the soldier's weight, 
Whirled dim and dimmer, round and round, 
Struck steeply with a crushing sound 
The broken rocks : — arose no cry 
But surge below and blasts on high. 

VII. 

Then springing past, from precipice 
Tney swung them down the dim abyss, 
By perilous steps, while gathering eyes 
Gazed from above in dread surprise. 
As out the rock's grim face they pass. 
Tread they upon what moveless mass 1 
It is the soldier, crushed and rent, 
With sharp, cold stones still warmly blent ! 
Winding along the broken beach 
Beneath the clifis, at length they reach, 
Beside a lowlier shore afloat, 
O-wa-o-la, in gallant boat. 
With lashing spray, and tossing foam. 
The deep, as far as eye could roam, 
Was roused to rage, but morning's ray 
Might not behold them there delay. 
Embarked, though every lifted wave 
Descending seemed to make their grave, 
They cleared the isle, and southward tost, 
Sprang forth on low and woody coast. 



TECUMSEH. 235 



VIII. 



Avoiding then the Ottowa homes, 
Four days direct, through forest glooms, 
Their course they bore for Erie's side ; 
Yet never once that mien of pride, 
With deep unuttered grief o'ercast. 
From stern Tecumseh's features passed ; 
And few the words he spake, though kind, 
As absent far his thoughtful mind. 
— The fifth day's evening sun was low, 
And bright beneath its golden glow. 
Where Maiden's breasted mounds arise, 
Detroit's swift river met their eyes. 
Upon whose bosom, hovering wide. 
Young Perry's sail-borne fleet was spied, 
While, near a green isle's pebbly pave. 
An armed boat rocked upon the wave. 
On such a lovely scene to look, 
Where, prostrate by the whirlwind's stroke, 
A fallen tree lay huge and high, 
Advanced the chieftain heedlessly — 
Ken-hat-ta-wa with armed men 
Uprose behind : — unmoved, as when 
Confronting dark are war-gods set. 
Carved calmly stern, the warriors met. 

IX. 

" My brother's feet are tired and worn," 

With courtesy of lofty scorn. 

The Ottowa said : " I now will guide 

The pale-face where he shall abide." 

" The red-man's foot can never tire. 

Unless he have an Ottowa sire," 

Rejoined Tecumseh : " I can still 

Guide, guard the pale-face where I will. — 

" Good words — big heart — but bad, that eyes 



236 TECUMSEH. 

Should see not where a foeman lies : 
Sight better than a valiant tongue !" 
One glance behind, Tecumseh sprung 
So instant o'er that massive tree, 
An eye might scarce the motion see, 
Bore back their chief, with sinewy knee, 
Upon the earth, while either hand 
Hurled down the strongest of his band ; 
And, following swift such opening through, 
O-wa-o-la and Moray flew 
Right o'er the fallen, and, side by side. 
Plunged headlong through the rushing tide : 
Though vengeful shot around them rained. 
That rocking bark was safely gained. 



But fearful now became the strife 
Those chieftains urged for death or life. 
With fiercer might and vaster frame 
Ken-hat-ta-wa to the conflict came ; 
But, if more grace around them clung, 
Tecumseh's every limb was strung 
With tireless nerves, and calmness gave 
More lasting strength than wrath can have. 
Wreathing their corded arms compressed 
Around each painted, slippery breast. 
And striving, hand and teeth, to tear 
And throttle neck and bosom bare. 
The while their bony knees to bring 
And crush beneath the vital spring, 
In serpent coilings, fold in fold. 
They rose and struggled, writhed and rolled, 
Till from their mouths, and nostrils wide, 
Gushed the dark blood in mingled tide. 
And each strained sinew seemed from flesh to part, 
And each wild eye-ball from its socket start. 



TECUMSEH. 237 



XI. 

Yet neither might th' advantage gain, 
And fainter grew their desperate strain, 
When, where their slippery blood was shed, 
Tecumseh fell, with struggling tread. 
Beneath the giant Ottowa borne ; 
Who then in triumph, rage, and scorn, 
Shook from his eyes the clotted hair. 
And raised his glittering knife in air, 
And grimly frowned Hate's darkest frown. 
As came his arm in vengeance down. 
That blow had sent the hero's soul 
Fast fleeing from its mortal goal. 
But that, with motion as of thought, 
A youthful savage sprung and caught 
Th' uplifted hand : — the keen blade found 
Its deep sheath in th' insensate ground. 
By quick and desperate effort turned. 
His baffled foe the Shawnee spurned. 
And burst away : in madness' might. 
That foe, like whirlwind of the night. 
Pursued, o'ertook, the sudden flight. 
Upon the river's crumbling brink 
Again in deadly close they sink ; 
But now beneath the Ottowa fell. 
And now the dusky frown of Hell 
A moment on Tecumseh's brow 
Lowered storm-like, and a mortal blow 
He lifted high — why strikes he not 1 
There passed his soul some flash of thought — 
Perchance, of that great cause, which then 
That blow would wound — perchance, again, 
Of her, a father's mourning daughter. — 
In wordless scorn upon the water 
He hurled the chief, and, rushing past. 
Himself into its billows cast, 
20 



238 TECUM SEH. 

And breasted high their swelling flood, 
Till on an isle's green verge he stood. 



The Ottowa rose from that disgrace 

And turned, as flame, his kindled face. 

" Child of a wretch !" his wrath begun, 

" No Ottowa, but a Shawnee's son, 

With whom thy mother wronged her lord, 

How dared'st thou thus my vengeance ward?" 

" For that," replied the warrior youth. 

With most undaunted mien of truth, 

" Tecumseh is, in our decay. 

While clouds are darkening all our day, 

The red-man's hope, the red-man's stay. 

I could not see him die within 

Thy grasp, though of thy race and kin!" — 

" Then take thou, for a slave's belief. 

Take, fool, the sentence of thy chief!" 

He spake — one step advanced — and raised 

His hatchet's gleam, with eyes that blazed : 

The smooth- cheeked warrior started not, 

But stood, as pillared to the spot. 

With moveless limbs ; nor tongue, nor eye, 

Gave stern reproach or sad reply. 

The sharp edge sank beneath the skull : 

Forward, with heavy sound and dull, 

A dusk form pressed the leafy plain. 

Nor spake, nor moved, nor breathed again. 

XIII. 

Grave silence followed. Round the dead. 
With mute reproach, yet secret dread. 
Each hardened warrior bowed his head ; 
But stood their chief that form beside, 
In hushed regret and sullen pride : 



TECUMSEH. MM 

If busy thought the deed condemn, 
He will not bare his soul to them. 
As on the isle's low marge he stood, 
That tragic close Tecumseh viewed. 
With red hand o'er the waters waved 
Menaced revenge, then, turning, braved 
Their full tide towards th' opposing shore ; 
While from the scene, with measured oar. 
The boat swept downward, hushed and slow, 
To gain those hovering ships below. 
The ships were gained — their white sails spread 
Bore the huge hulks, with rocking tread, 
Far southward towards their island-bay, 
While o'er the crystal walls of day 
Climbed the vast clouds, and wind-borne storms rose high, 
To scare lone night with their wild revelry. 



'Tis morn. The clouds have passed away, 

Like a dark dream — the glorious day 

Comes down upon the lake afar — 

Fades in the east the herald star — 

The light wind, breathing through the sails 

Sweet power that o'er the heart prevails ! 

Awakes around the phantom sleep 

Of the fair isles, that crown the deep. 

Just touched with Autumn's earliest blight ; 

Each ship doth o'er her shadow float, 
A creature resting in its might ; 
But, ere again descends the night. 

There shall be done a deed of note. 

XV. 

" They come — ^they come — the foe ! the foe !" 
From mast-head high was sent the cry. — 

" Where ? whence ?" — " Beyond the islands lo ! 
I see them southward fly." — 



240 TECUMSEH. 

" Up with the anchors ! Crowd all sail, 
Whate'er may catch the shifting gale ! 
Send down the sign along the line — 
Soon shall the light of battle shine !" 
The anchors rose, the sails were set, 
But, by the inconstant breezes met. 
Long hours upon their willing way 
Young Perry's baffled vessels lay. 
Vain was his heart's untold complaint ; 
In varying courses, low and faint, 
Breathed the sweet air. At last the wind 
Sprung up with steady strength behind. 
The isles were past, and — there they lie. 
Close hung between the wave and sky I 

XVI. 

Oh ! fair and brave was their array, 

As on th' unconscious deep they lay, 

Their broadsides gleaming in the sun, 

Their tall spars rising one by one. 

Their topsails round the high masts curling, 

Their ensigns on the breeze unfurling. 

Beauty and terror ! Mighty things 

They seemed, that, with their folded wings 

Reposing on the wave all night, 

Had flown not with the morning's light ! 

They breathe not — but there is a breath, 

Hushed deep their glorious forms beneath. 

That from those hundred mouths can blast, 

Their foes with terrors strange and fast : — 

Yet fair on Erie's blue they rest, 

Slow heaving with her heaving breast ! 



And Perry spoke : " My men — ye need 
Few words, as in your eyes I read. 
There are the foe — the strife is near — 
But yours are not the souls of fear. 



TECUMSEH. 

My men — we meet no coward foes. 

They had their birth where valor grows ; 

And some with Nelson fought afar 

At Aboukir and Trafalgar. 

'Tis well : they're worthy of our strife.. 

With such we'll barter life for life 

We know there's death or victory : 

Nay more — tis victory to die I 

My men — upon this flag are blazed 
The immortal words of Lawrence dying ; 

Say, shall they on our front be raised, 
And in the battle flying ?"— 

" Ay ! Ay !" — and as to silent heaven 

Aloft those burning words were given, 
• " Yield not the ship !" with loud acclaim 

From all their line the aery frame 

Wide echoed — then the hush of doom 

Fell cold, and dimness of the tomb 

Seemed gathering round them : still and slow 

The fleet swept down upon the foe. 
Oh ! there are beating hearts — but not with fear, 

And fond thoughts turning to the homes of love, 
And far recallings of sweet memories dear. 

And hope-starred images, that dimmer move, 
And low requestings of each other near. 

And vows and voiceless prayers to one above ; 
For now, so near are they. Death hovering flings 
On either fleet the shadow of his wings. 

xvm. 

Stern defiance on the air 

Breathed a trumpet wild and high> 
And each hardy Briton there 

Raised a shout from wave to sky. 
Then — a moment Perry's van 
Advancing as the breeze could fan — 
There wreathed a smoke, there flashed a flame, 
20* 



241 



242 TECUMSEH. 

And crashing through his bulwarks came 
The ponderous globe, and fast anon 
From each far-flinging hostile gun 
The bolts of death hailed hurtling on, 

And strong-ribbed oak was riven, 
And breasts of steel were crushed and torn, 
And eyes, that joyed to hail the morn, 

To dayless darkness given. 
" On," Perry cried, "to closer strife. 
Till we can reap the fields of life, 
Then leave the rest with Heaven !" 
And on unwavering through the storm 
The star-ship bore her shattered form. 

XIX. 

She neared — she stopped — on either hand 
Her fearless consorts took their stand, 

Save one aloof that lay. 
. Ah ! then a deadlier work began ! 
Along each line like lightning ran 
* Sharp flame, and, bursting way 
The dark and caverned port-holes through. 

Like stones, from burning beds beneath, 

Hurled on the deep volcano's breath, 
The blazing broadsides crashing flew 

From shattered side to side, 
The rocking waters all between 
Were dimly glassed with baleful sheen, 

By fearful glimpse descried — 
Groan answered groan, and shoutings loud 
Rose wild within the smoky cloud. 
Where stern, strong men in death were bowed. 

And curdled life's red tide — 
Round the far isles and forest shore. 
Where rolled no cannon's voice before. 
The waves grew hush beneath their roar, 

And, slowly darkening wide. 



TECUMSEH. 243 

Above the dying and the dead 
One sulphurous, lurid shroud was spread, 
Through which the all-beholding sun 
Saw not the work of havoc done. 

XX. 

An hour is past. From all the fleet 
Upon the star-ship showers, like sleet. 
Their mingling shot : in Fate's embrace. 
How shall she hold her fiery place 1 — 
Strife ! — Terror ! — Death ! — O struggling pen, 
Thou'rt idle ! — Hark ! — Again ! again ! — 
Heaven be your aid, ye gallant men ! — 

Look, how the battle breathes ! 
And lo ! on hostile ship there gleams — 
It is ! — it is ! — how near she seems ! 

Amid the sable wreaths 
A maiden's form ! — Borne loose behind. 
Her dark hair streamed upon the wind, 
Her bosom bare, her robes of white, 
Flashed with the battle's fitful light ; 
The splintered oak and whistling shot 
Around her flew — she heeded not, 
But wildly waved, with arms on high. 
And fearless brow, and kindled eye. 
Her countrymen to victory. 



" 'Tis she !— O Mary !" Moray cried : 
The cannon's thunder-roar replied. 
« Fly ! fly ! O Mary, fly beneath ! 
Stand not before the shafts of death !" — 
She saw him not, nor heard his call. 
And courted death could not appal ; 
For, worn by grief and long despair. 
To her 'twere joy to perish there. — 
" Haste ! hide thee, till the battle's done 



244 TECUMSEH. 

Still standing high, from ruined gun, 
Alone and lost, she waved them on, 
While rose the cheering cries amain — 
" Now for the stars and stripes — again !" — 
" St. George for England !" — Round his brain 
The whole mad scene began to whirl : 

" Oh, hear'st thou not !" — ^he saw De Vera 

Rush up and rudely seize the girl : 
" Curst wretch ! this bolt thy heart shall tear !" 
But, ere the rash-aimed ball was flown, 
A flying fragment dashed him down J 

Among the dead, — and sharp, and fast, "1 

As hail upon the whirlwind's blast. 

When Spring's young leaves are shorn,, . 

Through hulk and shrouds and cordage passed I 

The shivering shot, and sail and mast 

Were to the red deck borne, 
And shrieks, and shouts, and groans arose. 
And they that writhed with mortal throes, 
And they that heard nor friends nor foes. 

With mangling bolts were torn. 
Yet moved through all that fearful scene 
Firm Perry with unaltered mien. 
And to " th' immortal words" on high 
The dying turned their glazing eye^ 

And in their heaven of blue, 
Above the tempest and the night 
Of death, the floating stars were bright. 

The free-born eagle flew ! 



O for a voice of future shame. 
If not renown, that could reclaim 
Yon recreant vessel to the strife, 
Where toil the faint remains of life ! 
Long Moray lay with drooping head, 
So still and pale, they deemed him dead. 



TECUMSEH. 

At last the loud, unceasing din 
Awoke his torpid sense within ; 
He stirred, and from the gory deck 
Half rising, gazed upon the wreck, 
Wildly, as if 'twere all a dream : 
He saw each plank with carnage stream, 
The dead lie piled, and wave the stars 
O'er shattered bones and shivered spars. 
Dismounted guns, and rigging riven. 
Yards through the broken bulwarks driven, 
And high masts mid the corses hurled. 
Their tattered canvass round them curled. 



Perry's calm, determined hand 
O'er the last gun held the brand. 
But ere the jfiery touch was given, 
Beneath his hand 'twas dashed and riven. — 
" Ho ! man the boat." — A moment gave 
Their light bark to the frighted wave ; 
And Moray, whose collected thought 
Again that startling vision brought 
Before his eyes, with anguish wrung,. 
Scarce conscious o'er the ship-side sprung : 
With maniac's strained and sinewy grasp 
An oar his gory fingers clasp. 
Aloft stood Perry on the prow, 
His thick curls shaken round his brow. 
And o'er his shoulder brightly wreathed 
Those words by deathless valor breathed 
From pallid lips. "Yield not," they sighed : 
" Speed, speed, my men," the hero cried ; 

"Yon ship hath deadlier store !" 
Some furlongs o'er the deep it lay. 
And he must make his perilous way 

Beneath the cannon's roar : 



245 



246 TECUMSEH. 

Full well the foe that movement knew, 
And fast the death-shot round him flew, 
That o'er him showered the sprayey dew. 
And pierced their thin bark through and through, 

Yet high his front he bore. 
Nor looked he round, nor took he heed : 
*' Speed, speed, my men, for victory speed !" 

Fast gleamed the bending oar, 
Nor from one head a lock was shorn, 
For Perry in that boat was borne. 



He reached the ship, he climbed the deck, 

He bade its recreant course to check : 

" Back with your top-sails ! Up helm, ho ! 

Yon trysail closely brail ! 
Square yards, and fast upon the foe 

Bear down before the gale ! 
Haste on the gun-boats — all must close 
In slaughtering conflict with our foes — 

Hang out this burning sign !" 
As thus with rapid words he spoke, 
" St. George for England, ever !" broke 

From all the British line. 
He looked, and saw no longer wave 
His flag above that vessel brave. 
Of valor now the ruined grave : 
"Ay !" cried he, " short-lived triumph have- 

The next, the next is mine !" 



The breeze blew well — on wings of fate 

The dark ship rushed along — 
Beside each gun, of deadly freight, 
A minister did breathless wait,. 
With fiery hand and heart elate, 
Or mutely glanced upon his mate 



TECUMSEH. 247 

With looks that made them strong. 
The British fleet in close array 
Poured death to daunt her on the way, 

She bounded nigh and nigher, 
Till, broke their line, on either side 
Must they her fearful blast abide — 

" Now," cried Perry, — "/re .'" 

XXVI. 

As the whirlwind in its wrath 

Through the forest tears its path, 

Rending hemlock, oak, and ash. 

In one universal crash. 

And pierce to heaven the howl and cries 

Of wild-beasts in their agonies : 

So that blast in terror went, 

So those wooden walls were rent, 

So from crushed and mangled foes 

Cries of utter anguish rose. 

The sable pall was spread around, 

But through its volumed folds profound 

A maiden's voice, so sweet and clear. 

Thrilled on Moray's aching ear. 

In accents calling, wild and high. 

Her countrymen to "do or die." 

Ah ! what a voice ! He bent and gazed — 

The smoke grew thin — 'twas she ! 'twas she ! 
That white form, tossing arms upraised — 

" O Mary, speak to me !" 
She heard, and through the space so dim 
She turned that face, those eyes on him : 
" My father's God ! and is it thou 1 
Oh ! save me, Henry, save me now !" 



Then again with lurid light 
Blew each gun its blast of might, 



248 TECUMSEH. 

Shook the ships and rolled the smoke. 

He saw her fall — he deemed the stroke 

Of flying shot had laid her low, 

And prostrate sank upon his brow, 

With sickness to the vital core, 

And heard, and felt, and moved no more, 

While rang to heaven th' exulting cry 

" Down with the British lion, down ! 
Up with the star-born eagle, high !" 

And trebly swelled the yell and moan 
Of mortal agony. 
This could not last. In smoke and blood, 
Among his shattered bulwarks stood 
One high of rank, and signal gave 
That hushed was England's battle brave 
And sunk her pride in glory's grave : 
Her flags of red, ensanguined glow 
Were furled on redder decks below. 
— The shroud of battle rolled away 
And there upon the lake they lay, 
O how unlike that glorious sight. 
On which had burst the morning's light ! 



Sailed the ships, and on the mom 
From their decks were slowly borne 
The dead of rank, to have their grave 
On land, yet near the rolling wave. 
That morning smiled as bright and fair. 
As if no scene of death were there ; 
And lay the lulled lake, calm and clear> 
Reading the heavens, as if no fear 
And strife and triumph and despair. 
Had, hid from her their ancient scroll. 
And shaken all her tranquil soul. 



TECUMSEH. 249 



XXIX. 



With their robes of war arrayed, 

In the barks the dead were laid, 

Over them the colors flying. 

Which had waved when they were dying ; 

And the mournful music woke, 

Scarce the rowers heaving breath, 
Keeping time, with measured stroke, 

To their chanted dirge of death. 
Soon they stood upon the strand, 

Foeraan met as friends in sorrow, 
And the living raised in hand 

Those who knew not of that morrow, 
On that lone and shadowy shore. 

Ranged beneath the silent sky. 
With the youngest borne before, 

Foe and foe alternately. 



Then slowly and solemnly, wrecks of war, 

To the fife and the drum they wended. 
While the guns from the shattered ships afar 

Their roar with the melody blended. 
Swell high, swell higher, thou soul-stirring fife I 

Deep drum, roll a battle-peal boldly ! 
O ! ye cannot awaken the dead to strife, 

They slumber so soulless and coldly ! 
Then low be your voice, and with measured tread 

Let the pomp of the tomb move slowly : 
Bear, bear ye the brave to their dreamless bed 

And lay them embalmed in their glory. 
Bold, bold were your hearts, and your hands were strong 

For your countries and fame immortal : 
Ah, hushed in a darkness deep and long. 

Shall ye rest you in Night's cold portal ! 
21 



250 TECUMSEH. 

No trumpet may sound " we come ! we come !" 

Nor a voice shall welcome ye thither : 
For there's nought ever stirs in her realms of gloom, 

Whence the spirit departeth — O whither ! 
They came to the grave, nor a word they said, 

Side by side the unheralded placing ; 
Then a prayer — and the farewell shot was paid 

To the foemen in death embracing. 
By the side of thy billov/s, O Erie, they lie, 

But they hear not the voice of thy roaring, 
Nor behold the gray eagle in liberty's sky 

O'er the place of •their burial soaring : 
But their countries shall cherish their memories blest. 
And the star of the pole watcheth over their rest ! 



TECUMSEH 



CANTO NINTH. 



The time has been when all this western world 
Was one vast forest, crowded, dim, and deep ; 
When waved no banner on its shores unfurled, 
Save wild, green streamers O'er the airy steep ; 
When chieftains watched, by lake or river's sweep, 
Through all the night with gory War, or bade 
Returning Peace her gentler vigils keep, 
Then held wise councils in the breezy shade. 
While the brown lover near soft wooed his black-eyed maid. 

The Orient dreamed — the daring voyager spread 
His snowy sails above the yielding wave, 
And lo ! no more, if eastern shores we tread. 
Doth one lone stream primeval shadows lave. 
And, with the forests, sink to silent grave 
The tribes that roamed their wilds in savage might ; 
Far west a few old woods and warriors brave 
Yet linger on the verge of hastening light : 
Full soon shall they, too, pass, and all to them be night ! 



252 TECUMSEH. 

What wonder, then, if in their gloomy soul 
They formed resolves of vengeance, deep and stern ; 
If, as by day and night upon them stole 
Visions of scenes that might no more return, 
They scorned before their foes aloud to mourn. 
Or let one tear their voiceless sorrow tell, 
But, while their hearts the more within them burn, 
Held sullen councils in each lonely dell, 
Then rushed into the strife, and fiercely fighting fell ! 



From Moray's darkened soul at last 

That stupor's death-like spell had passed ; 

And he had risen with tranquil face. 

But fixed and brooding mournfulness, 

Himself addressing words to none, 

And answering speech with heedless tone, 

Like one who in his sleep hath seen 

Some fearful thing that once hath been, 

Or visions strange and terrible. 

Which he may never dare to tell : 

He stood that very grave beside 

With thoughts that wandered wild and wide. 

Was it a heavenly phantom's form. 

That rose amid the battle's storm, 

Nor shrank from death, nor shook with dread, 

The spirit of the mourned and dead 1 

So would he deem, but some had told. 

That, when the smoke was thickest rolled. 

They seemed to see a light canoe 

Swung forth upon the waters blue, 

Then, where the cannons' flashing shone, 

A maiden's form into it thrown, 

While two beside her spring, and ply 

Swift oars, as who from peril fly : 

And when at last, the conflict o'er. 

Their shroud enwrapped the wrecks no more. 



TECUMSEH. 



253 



A boat far out, with hasty sweep, 
Seemed pressing shoreward o'er the deep, 
Unknown, nor seen to reach the coast, 
So soon through deepening distance lost 



The pageant of the grave was done, 

And underneath that morning sun 

The dead were left to their repose 

And Moray, when he saw it close. 

Turned silently away, and bore 

His steps along the wild-wood shore, 

If haply by the billows' side 

Might trace or token be espied. 

0-wa-o-la, who still would share 

His sorrows with fraternal care ; 

Who, when his soul and senses reeled, 

Had by him in the carnage kneeled. 

Nor heeded aught the groaning strife. 

But watched returning dawn of life ;— 

O-wa-o-la with Moray went, 

His lynx-like eyes in silence bent 

On every side. At last were seen. 

Concealed in thickets close and green, 

A boat and oars ; and soon was found 

A trail upon the leafy ground. 

Which then they traced as sure and fleet 

As blood-hounds track the murderer's feet 

III. 

Within the forest depths embraced 
A strange and lonely spot was placed. 
All trees of varied growth had made. 
On every side, abiding shade 
With woven boughs ; but o'er the place, 
Environed thus, an elder race 
21* 



254 TECUMSEH. 

Rose rare and mighty — such, sublime, 

As chronicle the years of time. 

And in their midst a single mound 

Stood high above the earth around, 

Like those whereof our tale has told 

In strains before, mysterious, old, 

Reared once in time, by hands unknown, 

In massive hoariness alone, 

Among some powerful race, 'tis deemed, 

Who lived, and toiled, and loved, and dreamed, 

Like us, till struggling for their homes, 

They fell amid their mighty tombs. 

And on its level summit grew. 

Of dateless birth, a tree or two. 

That, springing o'er that ancient sleep. 

Had struck their strong roots wide and deep, 

And stretched o'er dead leaves, yearly strown, 

Gray arms through ages dimly gone. 

But, by its southern side, beneath 

Were humbler monuments of death, 

Low mossy hillocks, where were laid 

Some Indian dead of tribe decayed — 

So near two perished races slept ! 

And just beyond was brightly kept 

A tranquil fire ; and, farther, rose 

A tall, slim tree, of faded boughs, 

Around whose roots, with care arrayed. 

Was fuel piled ; while through the shade 

Were seen a transient hut or two. 

By one of which, as if he grew 

From out the earth, an Indian stood : — 

What guards he there in solitude ! 

IV. 

The sun descending, scarce his rays 
Illumed the forest's deepening haze ; 
And there all darkly, group by group. 
Along that hoar mound's leafy slope 



TECUMSEH. 255 



The warriors of the wild were met, 
In deep consult, if longer yet, 
So many conflicts vainly fought, 
Or but with triumph dearly bought, 
They should against the Seventeen Fires 
Avenge their injured selves and sires. 
— O they from many homes were come. 
Thus gathered in that forest's gloom — 
From the sweet South's perennial pride, 
Where first-born rivers roll their tide. 
From near Wakondah's glorious rest 
In the bright regions of the West, 
From the blue waters of the North, 
Whose bravest then were gathered forth. 
And remnants of once powerful races. 
That in the east had left their traces, 
Sad tokens of a glory past, 
Only in dim tradition glassed. 



And thus amid the failing light 
They sat in hushed and sullen might — 
That silent fierceness mixed with sadness. 
Which makes Revenge's moody madness- 
Yet, deep howe'er their soul's disguise, 
Drank lightning from each other's eyes. 
But highest on that nameless mound. 
There sat those aged trees around. 
Whose reverend shadow o'er them fell. 
The chiefs and sages, honored well 
By place supreme, whose care was seen 
In furrowed brow and patriarch mien. 
Slow rose at last an aged one. 
And calm the grave consult begun, 
Soft peace advising ; every word. 
As wisdom's utterance, was heard. 
Then others spoke, in varied mood. 
Some fiercely urging war and blood, 



256 TECUMSEH. 

Some, milder, counselling to close 
A hopeless strife with mightier foes. 



Stood forth a chieftain, old and wise, 

On whom they turned their reverent eyes. 

" Brothers," his voice fell deep and low — 

" Sages and warriors : oa our foe 

May the Great Spirit pour his wrath ! 

I too would say, on war's red path 

Let men of might go forth and slay, 

Were it not vain for our decay. 

The red-man's loss, the white man's gain. 

Brothers — let Wyan's words be plain. 

There is no fear in Nidi's soul. 

None ever saw him shun the roll 

Of fiery battle. He hath done 

Deeds worthy of a warrior's son. 

By the great lakes, by rivers wide 

In the green South, and near the side 

Of far Wakondah's mountains bright^ 

This arm hath ruled the raging fight, 

This foot hath chased the flying foe ; 

Nay, many a white-man's feet were slow — 

And weeds and wild-grass o'er them grow ! 

Ah ! then was Nidi-Wyan young ! 

But, brothers, years, that spoil the strong. 

The gathering years have made him wise. 

He sees, that with such enemies 

Defeat or victory digs the graves 

Of all our race, while they, like waves, 

If some die foaming on the shore, 

Still others follow evermore. 

We heard but late their great guns break 

The forest's sleep from Erie's lake : 

Where now our allies' boasted aid ] 

Their ships, themselves, are captive made. 



TECUMSEH. 267 

Our strife is ruin. Yet if ye 

Stern conflict, warriors, still decree, 

Old Nidi Wyan will not shun 

The place where mighty deeds are done." 

VII. 

Up frowning sprung the Ottowas' chief ; 

" Brothers, Ken-hat-ta-wa's words are brief. 

1 speak for war. Let others rest 

Who deem the red-man's wrongs redressed. 

I wish for blood — and let it flow, 

Though all my race and kin lie low ! 

Who talk of peace 1 Who bid forget 

The wrongs of years, heaped hotly yet 1 

Are they not those, who slew in youth 

The coward whites ? who boast forsooth 

Of bold exploit, then bid embrace 

White-livered Peace 1 Are we a race 

Less brave than they 1 If they are chill 

With frosty age, must we be still 1 

Their veins are shrunk, their nerves are dry, 

Their limbs are withered — ' peace' they cry ! 

Peace 1 — Peace with whom 1 — The adders pale 

That crawl with cold and slimy trail 

Upon our fathers' graves, and creep 

Into our wigwams ! May ihey sleep 

Paler in death ! What ! cringe and bow. 

Like dogs 1 By A-re-ous-ki, np ! 

Warriors — I am of Pontiac's blood. 

Like him, I hate the reptile brood. 

Fawn 1 Lick the dust whereon they crawl ] 

Not /.' So low let others fall ! 

/ say — Revenge ! And if we die, 

What then ! Revenge is victory ! 

I ask not safety ; let me have 

One day's red vengeance — then a grave !** 



258 TECUM SEH. 



VIII. 



His words in every soul were fire, 

When lo ! a venerable sire, 

The memory of a vanished age, 

Whose sad and awful heritage 

It was, to live when all were gone 

His youth and ripening years had known, 

By aid of others slowly rose. 

The hair around his drooping brows 

Fell thin and silvery, stirred with breath 

Of passing breeze ; his frame beneath. 

Of hugest limbs, was gaunt and shrunk 

With weight of years ; and deeply sunk 

Within the caverns of the mind. 

His eyes burned dimly. Half reclined 

Beside a time-worn, massive tree. 

That seemed, like him, a shape to be, 

Left from the past, all hollowly 

Stole forth from his sepulchral breast. 

Whereon his feeble hands were pressed, 

A voice, as doth an echo come 

From out the gray and ruined tomb. 

Each eye was fixed in awe, as, broken 

By frequent pause, his words were spoken. 



" Children — for many winters lo ! 

The mountains stand : the rivers flow 

To the great deep— and none may know 

Their numbered years : the strong, bright Sun 

Still journeys on his way alone. — 

They grow not old. — Rut man decays. — 

The years go round, and lo ! his face 

Is seisn no more — and stranger hands 

Lay him to rest. — We-o-li stands 

A blasted hemlock on the hill. 



TECUMSEH. 259 

The winds of many winters shrill 

Have whistled through its boughs, till, dead, 

They whiten o'er its withered head. 

Of generations born with me 

I — only I— cease not to be. 

But wisdom comes with thronging years. — 

What voice is in We-o-li's ears 1 

Is it the voice of Tamenend, 

Thou counsellor of my youth, my friend 1 

Do I still hear thee, as when thou 

Taught'st me beneath the cedar bough 

By the broad Delaware 1 — no more 

Shall I behold thy native shore ! 

— Who has not heard of Tamenend, 

The old, the wise '] He was the friend 

Of young We-o-li. Oft he told. 

While near those mighty waters rolled, 

The Lenni Lenape's glories past ; 

And how with winged ships, swift and vast, 

The pale-men came ; and how the race 

Of red-men from the kindly face 

And bosom of our mother earth. 

Though born an earlier, nobler birth. 

Began to fail by them, and still 

Must fail and vanish. — I am chill. 

Will any youth draw near, and spread 

His wild-skin robe around my head ?" 



" Children — it is in vain ye strive. 

It is in vain ye bravely give 

Your lives upon the reeking field. 

It is in vain your hands are steeled 

To conflict resolute and long. 

As is the memory of our wrong. 

For what can death and victory do 

In combat with a countless foe 1 

What is the storm, the whirlwind's might, 



260 TECUMSEH. 

To sweep the thronging clouds from sight 1 
They sink, yet rise on every hand, 
And their pale presence fills the land. 
Can ye contend forever I May 
Your leagued pov^^er their inroads stay 1 
'Tis idle. — Does the sun behold 
Tribes mightier, than w^ere of old 
The Lenni Lenape — first born race 1 
How goodly was their dwelling place 
Beside a thousand streams ! How strong, 
The power their banded tribes among ! 
Where now are they ?— A remnant roams ! 
The pale-face holds their ancient homes ! — 
So must it be — our race depart — 
For we have grieved Manitto's heart : 
'Tis he hath brought the stranger near, 
And broke the red-man's bow and spear ! 
Yet mourn not, children. Southward far, 
Where vast and flaming mountains are, 
Great nations into ruin fall. 
Nay more what race hath burial 
Beneath our feet 1 Our hearts know not. 
How should we shun such common lot 1 
No ! live — It is more chill and cold. 
Will Nidi close my mantle's fold 1 — 
Live ye in peace till day be done. 
Ye follow towards the setting sun. 
Time comes, of all our race the last, 
By the great western waters cast. 
Shall sink with wrongs and grief oppressed, 
What then ? Our Islands of the Blest 
Are left to us ! We shall be there 
A shadowy realm whose forms are air : 
But joy is with them, never pain — 
Nor e'er shall pale-face entrance gain. — 

'Tis cold ! — 'tis dim ! — I see but forest glooms ! 

Spirit of Tamenend, Weoli comes !" 



TECUMSEH. 261 



XI. 

His accents ceased — more glassy grew 

His dim eyes, gleaming coldly blue — 

His gaunt frame, bent between his knees, 

Sank down beneath those aged trees : 

Upon their wasted roots and bare 

Lay low the mighty Delaware. 

Nor word, nor voice, broke forth around : 

But, drawing near along the mound. 

The eldest twain of all their bands. 

With placid mien, but faltering hands, 

The cold and bloodless limbs composed, 

His wild-skin robe around them closed, 

Then, back retiring, sat again. 

And stillness held unbroken reign. 

The latest words his wisdom gave 

Spake peace, and seemed as from the grave. 

Manitto's was that failing voice ! 

Each soul was awed, nor any choice 

Appeared for them, but silently 

To wander from their homes, and die. 

Such feelings ruled the gloomy hour. 

With all Despair's heart-crushing power. 

XII. 

Tecumseh rose. His features high 
Were calm, except the flashing eye ; 
His neck and swarthy breast, that throbbed 
With pulse of fire, he half unrobed, 
And drawing near with noiseless tread, 
Where sunset shone upon his head. 
His bare arm stretched above the dead. 
"How art thou fallen," low words began. 
In tones that througli their bosoms ran, 
" Pine of the mountains ! Who hath done 
This deed on thee, O warrior's son, 
22 



TECUMSEH. 

sire of men ? What power of ill, 
Wise soul, brave heart, unconquered will. 
Hath laid thee low ] Thy years are o'er : 
Thou shalt arise from earth no more ! 

Warriors — his time is come at length. 
Where now is valor /? Where is strength? 
Where wisdom 1 Lo ! We-o-li's dead ! 
The son of Narhe's soul hath fled ! 
Pride of the Wa-pa-na-chi — friend 
Of age-remembered Tamenend — 
Inheritor of his counsels ! Who, 
In manhood's might, may bend the bow 
He bent in youth 1 What hand shall wield 
His war-club o'er the embattled field 1 
His place in council who can fill 1 
The mighty one is fallen ! — How still ! — 
And why 1 The years have loved to spare 
His wrinkled brow, his silvery hair : — 
What bowed him here these tombs among 1- 
Remembrance of the red-man's wrong ! — 
And where to sleep ? In peaceful grave 
By Susquehanna's rolling wave, 
Or rock-born Delaware 1 — No, never ! 
The rushing of their native river 
May soothe his fathers where they rest, 
But he shall lie alone, unblest. 

XIII. 

Watching his words despair enchain, 

He raised a loftier, louder strain : 

" And yet I know not. — Senseless clay ! 

1 deem thee less unblest than they ! — 
For, brothers, o'er their honored heads 
With spurning foot the pale-face treads ; 
This clay, perchance, may find some spot, 
Untrod, unknown, where he is not. — 
What said 1 1 They were idle words i 
This whole wide land no spot afibrds, 



TECUMSEH. 263 

Where great We-o-li would not be 
Some day the stranger's mockery ! 

Men, brothers — many winters gone 

There was no land, nor rising sun, 

Nor moon, nor stars : all, all was night. 

By the Great Spirit's ancient might 

All things were made. The pale-men's home 

He gave beyond the ocean foam : 

These hunting grounds he stored with game 

For his red children. Honor, fame. 

Was theirs in peace, and theirs in war : 

By lake, and stream, and hills afar. 

And boundless plains, from age to age, 

How glorious was their heritage !" 

XIV. 

Each eye was fired, each bosom shook. 

More fixed became each earnest look. — 

" Great Spirit ! o'er the wide salt sea 

We deemed the pale-face sent from thee, 

And we rejoiced. — O fatal joy ! 

O trust reposed but to destroy ! 

Where, red-men, is the banded pride 

By Rappahannock's rushing tide. 

And old Potomac 1 Where the power» 

That, like a storm, was wont to lower 

On the dark Alleghanies 1 — Naught, 

Except the fields whereon they fought. 

Is left to tell ! Like worthless stones. 

The white-man's plough upturns their bones ! — 

Where are the Lenape, leagued and strong 

A thousand watery vales among] — 

By many a strange and distant shore 

They wander and return no more ! — 

What are the ancient tribes, and brave. 

That dwelt along the eastern wave 1 — 

A name ! A mournful memory ! — 

And what are those that loved to be 



264 TECUMSEH. 

Among the valleys and the hills 
Of Mohawk and green Katterskills, 
That passed the silvery Horicon, 
And hunted northern heights upon, 
And by Ontario's billowy marge, 
Or storm-robed Erie, roamed at large 1 — 
Their graves remain 1 — And who need say 
How passed the Natches' power away, 
Murdered among their sacred fires 1 
O Sun, the worshipped of their sires. 
When wilt thou see, at thy return. 
Thine offerings on their altars burn ! 
— But fell all these unfought, unfeared ? — 
No ! warriors, no ! Who hath not heard 
Of proud Powhatan, and the dread 
Of 0-pe-chan-ca-nough 1 They shed 
The stranger's blood, till earth was red I 
And who knows not of Metacom, 
Long struggling for his rocky home 1 
And, more than all, the lord of slaughters, 
Great Pontiac, ruler of broad waters 1 
At name of him, both far and near. 
The pale-face paler grew with fear ! 

XV. 

Tecumseh saw in flaming eyes 

Pride, sorrow, scorn, and rage arise. 

While strained hands to their daggers stole, 

And deeper poured his burning soul : 

" O red-men ! what are we to do. 

When thus our fathers slew the foe 1 

Are we less brave I Who here will own 

A coward in a warrior's son 1 

— Yet peace is urged. — What ! where they died 

In vengeance mid the battle's tide 

For this their native land, shall we 

In tameness with the usurpers be 1 



TECTJMSEH. 265 

—But they are countless — clouds of heaven — 

Waves of the deep — by strife are given 

But tombs to us, while they remain. — 

O false regard ! compassion vain ! 

Speak ! mighty dead of race unknown, 

That sleep beneath ! When, ages gone, 

Your land, like waves, strange nations reft, 

Fought ye not long, till none was left 1 

Speak ! mouldering dust of red-men near ! 

Shall our poor life be shame and fear 1 — 

And what if peace were lovely 1 Where 

These pale insatiate strangers are, 

There is no peace for us, no rest. 

Except upon our mother's breast ! 

We shall but live despised, undone, 

Till pushed from being, one by one, 

To graves of scorn ! Thou setting Sun, 

Say not in Islands of the Blest, 

Their sons are meek, though spurned, oppressed 1 

Tell not to after times, thy race 

Chose thus to die by long disgrace I 

XVI. 

O red-men ! *tis to you I call I 
Why should it thus your souls appal. 
That power allied has been o'erthrown 1 
That ye at last may war alone 1 
Say is not this your native land 1 
Do not the forests round ye stand ? 
Master of life ! shall we resign 
Thy gifts to other hands than thine 1 
Warriors, I know that I shall fall. 
What then 1 It is my country's calL 
It is not death revenged to die : 
Death is to live in infamy ! 
Who loves a few inglorious years 
Of coward peace and craven fears 
22* 



266 TECUMSEH. 

And injuries too deep for tears — 
Here let him rest ! Who hopes to be 
Past death renowned immortally, 
And hates the wrongs, the ills of life, 
Follow Tecumseh to the strife !" 

XVII. 

Aloud he cried, and whirling threw 
His hatchet's gleam the dimness through. 
And, bounding o'er the moveless dead, 
Pursued the whistling flight it sped. 
While all the throng tumultous rose. 
With tossing arms, and tempest brows. 
And shouts, and yells, and menaced blows. 
Far fixed within that slender trunk 
The sharp axe shook not where it sunk ; 
Then, seizing from the fire a brand. 
He hurled it with impetuous hand 
Beneath that fuel piled and dry. 
And, as the flames rose wreathing high, 
And brooding Night her pinions spread. 
Around them moved, with lifted head, 
And chanted song, and quickening tread ; 
While close, to utmost phrenzy strung. 
Behind him fast fierce warriors sprung, 
Till all, each thought in madness merged, 
Untired their savage orgies urged. 



As, when a burning vessel, tost 
On Norway's stern, tempestuous coast, 
Is drawn at night, with plunge and roll, 
Into the Maelstrom's mighty pool, 
Lighting the deep, the seamen there, 
Through minds made frantic by despair, 



TECUMSEH. 267 

On all the vortex vast and dim^ 

See fiends around them, strange and grim, 

That laugh, and dance, and yell, and swing, 

And furious gestures toward them fling. 

Now borne through glare, now darkness dun, 

As swift the dizzy circles run : 

So by that fire and blazing tree, 

Whose topmost boughs flamed fearfully. 

With tufted head, and frightful mien, 

Five thousand dusky forms were seen, 

The young, the old, dark haired and gray, 

All painted in their war-array, 

As wild beneath the shadowy night, 

Through forest gloom or flashing light, 

In thronging rage around and round 

Upon the hard and beaten ground, 

With fiendish gestures fiercely flung, 

They whooped, and swayed, and whirled, and swung. 

Their loose locks on the night- wind streaming 

Their sharp knives in the red light gleaming. 

Each swelling high his own rude song, 

That rang the deep, dim woods along. 

And striking oft, with furious blow, 

In every burning brand a foe. 

But rose o'er all their mingled noise 

Tecumseh's sweet and lofty voice. 

XIX. 

WAR SONG OF TECUMSEH. 

" I hear the sound of the battle ! 
Sharp are my arrows made : 
Bright is my hatchet's blade. 

But they shall be red 

In the blood of the dead, 
Mangled and low with his war-horse laid ! 



268 TECUMSEH. 

God of the battle, hear ! 
In the hour of the strife be near, 
With wrath, revenge, and fear ! 
Sound the loud whoop ! 

" I see the rush of the battle ! 
Tecumseh will soon be there. 
With his arm and his bosom bare. 
He never hath quailed, 
Nor his hand ever failed — 
When his foemen behold him they fly in despair I 
God of the battle, haste ! 
If the red-rnan's day be past, 
Let Rage and Havoc waste, 
While comes the night ! 

" I smell the carnage of battle ! 
Terrible is the strife, 
Where gushes the tide of life I 
But 'tis joy, as we sink, 
Of the red stream to drink. 
That warms from a foeman our hatchet and knife ! 
God of the battle heed ! 
Let the rolling conflict bleed. 
With the groan and the shrieking steed, 
Till Vengeance tire ! 

" Ha ! ha ! the battle 's around me ! 
Who is afraid to die. 
When he with his foe may lie 1 
Thus, thus my blow [ Striking the brands.] 

Hews down the foe ! 
From the graves of our fathers we never will fly ! 
God of the battle, hear ! 
Tecumseh knows not fear ! 
Though the hour of my fate be near, 
O Death, I come !" 



TECUMSEH. 



Still wheeled the dance, when suddenly 

Without their circle rose a cry, 

And through their midst with shouts was borne 

A single pale-face, wan and worn. 

'Twas Moray. Near that fearful place 

Had led the trail they sought to trace ; 

And, stealing towards that streaming lights 

They lurked around, if to their sight. 

Amid those scenes of fury there. 

The loved, the lost, might chance appear. 

A bright flash Moray's face betrayed, 

But, mingling, in the shifting shade. 

With thronging braves of hue his own, 

The dusky Huron stood unknown. 



When there Ken-hat-ta-wa, whose hate. 

Despite his daughter saved from fate^ 

Could never in his soul abate, 

Beheld that face, his sudden yell. 

As if from out the mouth of Hell, 

Startled the heavens. With grasp so strong, 

It might an arm of steel have wrung. 

He seized his foe. " Thine hour is come !" 

He cried exulting. " Room ! make room, 

Brave warriors ! Lo ! a spy ! a spy ! 

The traitor chieftain ! Let him die I" 

He spake, and shouts of joy replied. 

"Stay !" aged Nidi Wyan cried, 

With faltering words and earnest look. 

That anxious love and fear bespoke. 

" He is no spy. We must not stain 

Our cause with blood of traveller slain !" — 

"A traveller? Did not Wyan make 

This wretch, beside the Stormy Lake, 



369 



270 TECUMSEH. 

Adopted son ? And when at last 
Fixed foes the fiery oath had passed, 
Long war in leagued revenge to wage 
For all the red-man's heritage, 
Did he not then a recreant stand, 
A pale-face still in heart and hand ]" 
"Ay !" added suddenly De Vere, 
Advancing nigh, with fiendish sneer — 
For he was there to take away 
Resolves of that eventful day : 
"Ay ! and his limbs the dungeon's chain 
Have borne, for base attempts to gain 
Your free tribes, far as wild-deer roams, 
To war among the red-man's homes. 
Vile traitor, convict, spy, and liar. 
What doth he here 1 Such crimes require 
The torturing steel — consuming fire !" 

XXII. 

" Wretch !" Moray shrieked, and strove to wring 

His arms away, and forward spring : 

" Thou falsest murderer ! Where is now 

The dear, the faded one, whom thou 

Hast torn from mel" — "Fond fool! she's drowned!' 

The captive's brain spun darkly round : 

" How did I dream ! I thought 'twas she, 

Through battle's roar that spoke to me !" 

And in each face that, peering, leaned, 

And mocked at him, he viewed a fiend. 

Tecumseh saw, and sought to prove 

Again his gratitude and love. 

" Hear, warriors," cried he, calmly stern : 

" In cause so great, ye ought to learn, 

Such mean and petty cruelty 

Is not revenge. He must not die. 

The Great Manjtto in his wrath 

Will fill with graves our battle-path. 



TECUMSEH. 271 

Reserve your souls for fields of slaughter, 
Then spill the white-man's blood like water !" 

XXIII. 

The Ottowa turned. His visage, torn 

With rage, hate, triumph, infinite scorn, 

Glared horrible : " Ho ! ho ! what art. 

What charm hath changed Tecumseh's heart? 

The Indian's wrongs his tongue could tell 

In words most eloquently well. 

Milk-livered now, he spends his breath 

To save a pale-faced spy from death ! — 

Up with the stake ! Lo ! let him burn ! 

The red-man's glory shall return !" 

"Yes !" added Els-kwa-ta-wa near 

With silvery voice : — " Great Spirit, hear ! 

Hast thou not giv'n this victim's life 

To steel our warriors for the strife ?" 

From all the dark tumultuous throng 

Glad yellings through the forest rung ; 

And, looking in their eyes that hour, 

Tecumseh knew, an angry power 

Was raised which he might not withstand. 

He stood and waved his dusky hand. 

While quailed at his indignant glance 

The Prophet's cruel countenance : 

" Chiefs, warriors — act your will ; but I 

Will not behold a wanderer die. 

Let all, whose hands and hearts are one 

To do as have our fathers done. 

Seek Maiden ere the morrow fades." 

He spake and plunged through circling shades. 

XXIV. 

Then rose fierce cries. Some, hurrying round. 
Gather from all th' autumnal ground 



272 TECUMSEH. 

Dry roots and broken boughs, to raise 

The torturing pyre. For swifter blaze, 

Others the twisted knots untwine 

Of hemlock and the pitchy pine, 

Or sharp and gummy splints prepare, 

To thrust beneath his sinews bare, 

And make them, each a kindled torch, 

Through quivering gashes blaze and scorch ; 

While others throng with taunting cries, 

Or laugh into his aching eyes, 

And tell him how the fiery pains 

Shall dart and live along his veins. 

The stake was driven, and by its side. 

With strong green withs, the victim tied ; 

Then, piling round with eager hands 

The fuel near, bright, burning brands 

The Prophet and the Ottowa brought. 

And whooped to see the flames were caught. 



When, bluely creeping first below, 
Began their wreaths to circle slow. 
And with their lurid gleamings glared 
O'er painted face and bosoms bared. 
With knives and hatchets crowding nigh, 
They flashed their terrors in his eye. 
And drew their edge his brows between. 
And grazed his cheek with arrows keen, 
While gazing stood De Vere apart, 
With folded arms, exultant heart. 
To see him die a coward's son ; 
But never seemed he once to shun 
By start or look the fiery fate. 
That did his forfeit life await, 
But nerved his soul for tortures ready. 
And kept his eye unblenched and steady, 



TECUMSEH. 273 

Though more of paleness than was wont 
Appeared along his marble front. 
Strange, fearful scene ! The Huron near, 
What was it to his eye and ear ) 
The flying clouds, the struggling moon, 
The winds that swept with wail and groan, 
The battling trees, the gleaming light 
On hoary trunks and trailing night, 
The victim bound, the climbing flame, 
The shapes that danced, the bending frame 
Of Els-kwa-ta-wa's wizard power — 
All things recalled that anguished hour, 
When, rolled in scorn and leaping fircj 
Passed the grim spirit of his sire. 
If now his hand forbore to slay, 
'Twas but Revenge's stern delay ! 

XXVI. 

Heaven help thee, captive ! — Hurrying hands 
Lit torturing splints amid the brands. 
While sharp knives sought his sinewy frame 
Wherein to plant the eating flame — 
Lo ! like the moon through midnight cloud, 
There struggled through that dusky crowd 
A pale, fair girl. Her wildered gaze 
Beheld him bound. Through smoke and blaze 
She sprung before those daggers bare, 
And stood beside the victim there, 
As if an angel from above 
Should come to save her martyr love ! 
" My Mary !" gasped the youth — " with thee 
I hoped so soon in Heaven to be ! — 
How art thou here !" — Her agony 
No answer gave, but falling low 
She raised those eyes, that faded brow, 
And clasped the Ottowa's hard red hand : 
" O spare !" she cried, nor could command 
23 



274 TECUMSEH. 

One accent more, but " spare ! O spare I" 

Mid fierce, dark faces thronging there 

The savage gazed on her distress, 

Yet did his pitying heart repress : 

" It may not be. His life belongs 

To my deep hate, the red-man's wrongs. 

But thou, poor bird ! shalt dwell with me !"— 

She started from her trembling knee 

Before De Vere : " O save his life 

And I, yes ! I will be thy wife — 

Thy love — thy slave — whate'er thou wilt, 

Till death, that is not shame and guilt I" 

XXVII. 

*• O never thus !" from Moray broke, 
Convulsively through stifling smoke : 
" Be strown my ashes far and wide, 
But be not thou a murderer's bride !'' — 
" I must !— I will !— Thou may'st not die 1" 
" Dear girl, I swear," exultingly 
De Vere exclaimed, " he shall not perish ! — 
Great chief, revenge no longer cherish. 
Behold — the maiden yields her mind !" 
"And what to me is wish of thine V 
The haughty Indian asked. " He dies, 
■ Though thou shouldst share his agonies !" — 
^ " Then will I cause that never more 

Your rights shall England's arm restore !" 
Was given De Vere's enraged reply. — 
" Ho ! — think'st, I deem thy power so high 1 
And if it were, go, tell your chief. 
That small will be the red-men's grief, 
If they no more allies may keep. 
Who cannot hold the land nor deep ! 
And say, 'tis not our rights to save. 
They bear them o'er the ocean wave, 



TECUMSEH. 275 

And that alone we'll fight the foe, 

While suns shall rise, or rivers flow ! 

And for thyself — beware ! This maid 

Thou stol'st from me through midnight shade : 

Touch her again, thy own false life 

Shall redden on my reeking knife !" 

" Nay !" Wyan urged " be vengeance stayed !" 

"Mount, clinging fire !" the Prophet prayed. 

" O spare him ! — spare !" — the maiden cried : 

*' Death ! death !" a thousand yells replied. 



All this was but a moment. Flame 
Had reached the victim's shrinking frame 
And drank its dew with furnace breath. 
" Then will I go with thee in death !" 
The poor girl murmured, calm the while, 
And turned to fling her on the pile — 
As sweeps the storm through mountain glen, 
Whose coming not an eye may ken. 
There burst his way, in terror's robe, 
Flung wild as clouds that wrap the globe, 
A warrior-god ! His naked breast. 
Bare arms and face were fiercely drest 
In colors strange ; his gleaming plume 
Waved, shaken o'er his brow of gloom, 
And, underneath, his angry eye 
Shone like a meteor ! Bounding high, 
He swept his course with war-club swung. 
Beside the pyre of torture sprung. 
And, seizing thence, with furious hands 
Hurled wide and fast the blazing brands. 
Till, dizzy with their dazzling glare. 
No eye beheld the actor there, 
And, when they woke from that surprise, 
He nor the victim met their eyes. 



276 TECUMSEH. 



How brightly stole the mantling Morn 

Over the wilderness 1 Return, 

O joy-restorer ! where thou wilt, 

Thou gladdenest all but grief and guilt. 

— To Moray's or Tecumseh's breast 

It vainly glowed, that reddening east. 

Still mournfully, and mute, and fast 

Through early ^falling leaves they passed, 

Nor ever stopped, nor heeded aught. 

As if their being were but thought, 

Though full was all the forest there 

Of things most beautiful and rare. 

But when the morning sun was high, 

They did a hovering form espy 

Upon a distant hill ; and soon 

O-wa-o-la, beneath the noon. 

Hailed them with joy. Then forward pressed 

The three, till, veering from the West, 

From rising ground their sweeping view 

Surveyed afar the boundless blue 

Of Erie's wave — a glorious scene, 

With silent forests all between ! 



Some moments did the chieftain's eye 
Wander o'er water, wood and sky, 
Then thus he spoke : " Behold yon lake. 
Eastward its shore thy steps will take. 
Till thou the white-man's dwelhng see. 
Say — hath the Shawnee faithfully 
Redeemed the life-pledge giv'n to thee ?" — 
•* Ay !" Moray cried, " as here I stand !" 
And grasped with tears the chieftain's hand. 
♦• 'Tis well : yet know — " his bare arm swept ' 
The whole w de scene, that round them slept — 



TECUMSEH. 877 

" Yet, pale-face, know, thy life will cost 
To these fair lands a battle lost 
Tecumseh hath his warriors crossed, 
And angry hands will break the chain 
His words had linked our rights to gain. 
Ay, look around thee ! Fair they lie ! 
Is it not well for such to die 1 
— / fall : but when within thy breast 
Thy lost and wearied dove shall rest, 
Tell sometimes, in the years to be, 
How much the Indian gave for thee." 
He turned, and soon, the forest through, 
His stately form was lost to view. 

XXXI. 

Then eastward by the breezy lake 
Their course the twain in silence take. 
Till from the forest's deep repose 
Sandusky's simple dwellings rose. 
Why stay the Huron's steps 1 and why 
So troubled seems his thoughtful eye 1 — 
" My brother," with a faltering tone 
The youth began, " in wanderings lone, 
Lo ! now for many moons, with thee 
O-wa-o-la has loved to be. 
We 've bowed beside the same cool brook — 
Of the same food our hands partook — 
Our eyes have drunk the same sweet light- 
One leafy couch was ours at night. 
And both alike Manitto's power 
Hath guarded through the midnight hour. 
But now we part. Wilt thou forget 
The Huron, when his sun is set ?" 
"What mean'st thou V Moray wondering cried. 
" We will not part, thou truest guide. 
Through toils, through griefs, through dangers tried !" 
23* 



278 TECUMSEH. 

His head the Huron sadly shook : 

" Brother — yon setting sun may look 

Upon the wigwams of thy race, — 

But Where's the red-man's dwelling-place 1 

In mere remembrance of the homes 

Which once were ours, the conflict comes, 

And now is near ! Oneirah's son 

May not such field of battle shun." 

The earnest parting grasp was wrung, 

Yet seemed, as lingered on his tongue 

Some word unuttered. Slow he turned. 

But checked his steps, while deeper burned 

His flushed brown cheek : " If thou shalt see 

Omeena, when I cease to be, 

Tell her, my heart" — he faltered then — 

" Tell her, with throngs of warrior-men 

The Huron braved the battle's swell, 

And fighting for his country fell." 

He ceased, nor more his parting stayed ; 

And deeper grief on Moray weighed, 

For never yet on earth but one 

So dear unto his heart had grown. 



Now loud the shores of Erie rang 

With anvil, axe, and armor's clang, 

And all the busy stir that wakes, 

Where War, with giant footstep, shakes 

The trampled earth.— Days glided by. 

As flushed with recent victory. 

The corded sails with prouder sweep 

Had borne across the rocking deep 

Invading armies ; hostile coasts 

Had quaked with tramp of moving hosts ; 

From smoking holds and fortress fired 

The foe had sullenly retired ; 

And up swift Thames was urged apace 

The anxious flight, the eager chase, 



TECUMSEH. 279 

While ever mid the wilds appear 

The stealthy Indians, hovering near. 

And all the time, by wood and waste, 

Had Moray with the army passed ; 

For something whispered, treacherous feet 

Would haste the maid with that retreat. 



Within a wood extending wide 

By Thames's steeply winding side, 

There sat upon a fallen tree. 

Grown green through ages silently, 

An Indian girl. The gradual change 

Making all things most sweetly strange, 

Had come again. The autumn sun, 

Half up his morning journey, shone 

With conscious lustre, calm and still ; 

By dell, and plain, and sloping hill 

Stood mute the faded trees, in grief. 

As various as their clouded leaf. 

With all the hues of sunset skies 

Were stamped the maple's mourning dies ; 

In meeker sorrow in the vale 

The gentle ash was drooping pale ; 

Brown-seared the walnut raised its head. 

The oak displayed a lifeless red ; 

And grouping bass and white-wood hoar 

Sadly their yellow honors bore ; 

And silvered birch and poplar rose 

With foliage gray and weeping boughs ; 

But elm and stubborn beech retained 

Some verdant lines, though crossed and stained, 

And by the river's side were seen 

Hazel and willow palely green, 

While in the woods, by bank and stream 

And hollows shut from day-light gleam, 



280 TECUMSEH. 

Where tall trees wept their freshening dews, 
Each shrub preserved its summer hues. 
Nor this alone. From branch and trunk 
The withered wild-vines coldly shrunk, 
The wood-land fruits hung ripe or dry. 
The leaf-strown brook flowed voiceless by ; 
And all throughout, nor dim nor bright. 
There lived a rare and wondrous light, 
Wherein the colored leaves around 
Fell noiselessly ; nor any sound. 
Save chattering squirrels on the trees. 
Or dropping nuts, when stirred the breeze. 
Might there be heard ; and, floating high. 
Were light clouds borne along the sky. 
And, scarcely seen, in heaven's deep blue 
One solitary eagle flew. 



But these the maiden heeded nought. 
Watching afar. What form hath caught 
The gaze of her expectant eye 1 
She sprung not forth with joyous cry. 
As drew that stately warrior near. 
But rising, with the look most dear 
To one beloved, his hand she pressed 
Gently and sadly to her breast. 
His wavy plume the chief unbound 
And laid it glittering on the ground ; 
Then, sitting on that mossy tree. 
And gazing forth, where silently, 
Just seen, the swift bright river ran, 
Their converse low they thus began. 
" The Ottowa deems his daughter's feet 
Stray where the Great Lake's billows beat. 
Why hath the maiden left her home V — 
** Omeena's heart had bid her come."—" 



TECUMSEH. 281 

" That thus Tecumseh's breast by thee 
Grow soft, when it should sternest be ?" — 
" Nay — but to gird thy war-belt on, 
And meet thee when the battle's done ?" — 
" Meet me 1 — Alas ! thou'lt find me laid 
Among the voiceless slain, sweet maid ! 
My sire, in dreams, hath told me so." 
" Then who so well, for thee laid low," 
The maiden said, with faltering breath, 
" Could sigh the mourning song of death V 
His eyes the chieftain turned away, 
Lest he some rising tear display. 
Then from his bosom took the shell, 
Wherewith was proved his love so well : 
" Behold — this token bade me take 
From prison bars and fiery stake 
Thy rescuer from a watery grave. 
Thou hast again the pledge I gave." 
" Did not Omeena know, our minds 
Were as the mingling autumn winds, 
That breathe together 1 Dear to her, 
And thee, was that pale wanderer !" 

XXXV. 

Mournfully in his hands, and low. 

The warrior bowed his thoughtful brow : 

" 'Tis done — 'tis well — why should regret 

Cumber so fair a deed 1 — and yet. 

Through anger, girl, for victim taken 

By thousands was our cause forsaken !" — 

" O would he ne'er had saved my life ! 

Thou hadst been free for this great strife !" — 

He raised again that sullen face, 

And pressed her with a fond embrace : 

" Nay, gentlest ! — Be the loss most dear, 

J'lower of my heart ! for thou art here !"— 

" But numbers still with thee remain 1 



282 TECUMSEH. 

The conflict will not be in vain 1" — 

" Nay, trembling at a hostile tread, 

Our allies' dastard chief has fled. 

And tribes in scorn have gone away. 

Till now their country's sole array 

Is one poor thousand !— Be it so !" 

He cried with sudden start. ^' We'll go 

With stronger arm, with firmer soul ! 

More terrible shall the conflict roll ! 

We'll fight — our mountains round us stand ! 

We'll fight — our streams are on each hand ! 

We'll fight for our beloved land ! 

Great Spirit ! from our field of death 

Thou wilt receive the warrior's breath !" 

XXXVI. 

He gazed on her — his bosom shook : 

" Tis sweet upon thy face to look, 

Bird of the wild- wood ! I shall be 

Soon but a memory to thee ! 

But thou wilt make some happier choice : 

Another shall thy youth rejoice." 

She looked down with a tear and sigh, 

She looked up with a flashing eye : 

" When sinks the sun, doth any light 

Make glad the lingering cloud of night ] 

'Twere better far to go with him. 

Than stray so lonely and so dim !" 

Her dread resolve Tecumseh spied 

With mournful joy : " Thou art," he cried, 

" Indeed a warrior's love ! — but hark ! — 

Th' accursed drum ! — and yonder mark 

Pursuing banners ! See them wheel, 

With prancing steed and glistening steel ! 

Far up, where wild morasses wide 

Extend them near the river's side 

They shall be humbled ! — Now we part !" 

Calmly, yet with a struggling heart. 



TECUMSEH. 263 

He rose, his bright plume slowly raised, 

O'er wood and sky a moment gazed,' 

A moment looked in her dark eye. 

Then turned him quick and silently. 
As passed his form from view, the maiden bowed 
Her head in tears, ev'n like an April cloud. 

XXXVII. 

The sun in deeper redness glows, 

Beyond his mid-day tower ; 
No breeze along the forest blows. 
How smooth and dark yon river flows ! 
Yon green morass, how hushed and close ! — 

Dead seems the sullen hour ! 
But see through stirless trees the gleam 

Of burnished arms appear ! 
Rifle, and belt, and bayonet's beam, 
And bright swords flashing on the stream, 

And brazen cannon near ! 
Yet they that bear — how dumb they stand, 
From low morass to river's strand. 

In still and stern array ! 
They speak no word, they lift no hand, 

They move no step away ! 
Their plumes are waved not in the air. 

Their pennons droop oppressed. 
The very winds are breathless there, 

The coursing clouds at rest ! 
There's nought that stirs, above, below. 
Save that deep stream with noiseless flow, 

And, marked by every eye, 
One eagle, circling, wide and slow. 

The dimmed and silent sky. 
That army wait, with bird and brute 
And nature round them, hushed and mute, 
As when afar with fearful dooms. 
The terrible tornado glooms. 



284 TECUMSEH. 



XXXVIII. 



Hark to the trumpet and the drum ! 

Hark to the tramp of Mars ! 
So fast yon fiery legions come, 
Though all the air be stilled and dumb, 

Wide wave their bannered stars ! 
A thousand horse in rank arrayed, 
With beamy crest and brandished blade, 

Rushed like the tempest-wind ; 
With bristling steel, but clangor stayed. 
Moved, like that whirlwind's dreadful shade, 

Two thousand foot behind. 
" Halt !" rang on their impetuous speed 

The shout their leader gave ; 
And, while at once the foot recede, 
Each rider sat his restless steed. 

As rock above the wave. 
" Behold the foe in order wide. 

Like field of autumn corn ! 
Death be the reaper ! Side by side, 
While half your ranks the marshes ride, 
Upon them, horsemen ! — Charge !" he cried, 

With blast of bugle-horn. 
Forth at the peal each charger sped. 
The hard earth shook beneath their tread. 
The dim woods, all around them spread. 

Shone with their armor's light : 
Yet in those stern, still lines assailed 
No eye-ball shrank, no bosom quailed. 

No foot was turned for flight ; 
But, thundering as their foemen came. 
Each rifle flashed its deadly flame. 
A moment then recoil and rout. 
With reeling horse and struggling shout, 

Confused that onset fair ; 
But, rallying each dark steed once more, 
Like billows borne the low reefs o'er 



TECUMSEH. 

With foamy crest in air, 
Right on and over them they bore, 
With gun and bayonet thrust before, 

And swift swords brandished bare. 
Then madly was the conflict waged, 
Then terribly red Slaughter raged ! 

XXXVIII. 

How still is yet yon dense morass 

The bloody sun below ! 
Where'er yon chosen horsemen pass, 
There stirs no bough, nor blade of grass. 

There moves no secret foe ! 
Yet on, quick eye and cautious tread, 
His bold ranks Johnson darkling led. 
— Sudden from tree and thicket green, 
From trunk, and mound, and bushy screen, 
Sharp lightning flashed with instant sheen, 

A thousand death- bolts sung ! 
Like ripened fruit before the blast. 
Rider and horse to earth were cast. 

Its miry roots among ; 
Then wild, as if that earth were riven. 
And, poured beneath the cope of heaven, 
All hell to upper air were given, 

One fearful whoop was rung. 
And, bounding each from covert forth. 
Burst on their front the demon birth. — 
" Off! oflf! each horseman to the ground ! 

On foot we'll quell the foe !" 
And instant, with impetuous bound. 

They hurled them down below. 



Then loud the crash of arms arose. 
As when two forest whirlwinds close ; 
24 



285 



TECUMSEH. 

Then filled all heaven their shout and yell. 
As if the forests on them fell ! 
I see, where swells the thickest fight, 
With sword and hatchet brandished bright, 
And rifles flashing sulphurous light, 

Through green leaves gleaming red — 
I see a plume, now near, now far, 
Now high, now low, like falling star, 
Wide waving o'er the tide of war, 

Where'er the onslaught's led ; 
I see, beneath, a bare arm swing. 

As tempest whirls the oak. 
Bosom and high crest shivering. 

The war-club's deadly stroke ; 
The eager infantry rush in. 
Before their ranks, with wilder din, 

The wav'ring strife is driven — 
Above the struggling storm I hear 
A lofty voice the war bands cheer. 
Still, as they quail with doubt or fear, 

Yet loud and louder given ; 
And, rallying to the clarion cry, 
With club and red axe raging high. 

And sharp knives sheathing low, 
Fast back again confusedly 

They drive the staggering foe. 



But now they saw their allies fly, 

In rout, the field of fear. 
And now victorious cavalry 

Were poured upon their rear. 
Charge followed charge :— how shall they bide 
At once the tempest and the tide ! 
Charge followed charge ! To either side 

Their struggling flight they bore ; 
Yet, o'er the battle waving wide. 



TECUM SEH. 

One plume still shone, one voice yet cried 

Above the battle's roar : 
" Fly not, though yonder allies fly ! 
Fly not — 'tis ours to fight and die !" — 
O ! shame and grief were in the cry, 
Revenge, despair, and memory 

Of things to be no more ! — 
" Fight — for your injuries suffered long !" 
And his own arm avenged a wrong ; 
"Strike !" and his war-club, swift and strong, 

Crashed down the foe before ! 
Again they rallied to the death. 
Again they quailed the storm beneath, 

As reeds by river's shore. 

XIJ. 

Kenhattawa saw the day was lost. 
And thoughts of dearer vengeance crossed 
His savage soul. " If thus," he yelled, 
" The red-men's craven hearts are quelled, 
And all's undone, no hands but mine 
Shall spill that hated life of thine !" 
He sprang, and hurled his hatchet red, 

That, past the chieftain's feathered crest. 

Quivered in Nidi's aged breast. 
And stretched him with the dead. — 
" Thou traitor ! perish in the deed !" 
And, with the bound of battle-steed. 
Deep through the Ottowa's springs of life 
Tecumseh drove his griding knife 
Sheer to the hilt, then waved on high 
The reeking blade, with louder cry, 
" Turn ! turn ! be brave, avenged, and die !" — 
" Charge ! charge ! cried Johnson, urging on. 
Where thickest deeds of death were done, 
His staggering war-horse. Stern before, 
His lifted hatchet drunk with gore, 



287 



288 TECUMSEH. 

The warrior sprung — but, ere it flew 
The death-bolt pierced his bosom through. 
He fell, but, falling, tore his plume, 
And waved it mid death's gathering gloom, 

With wild and lofty cheer, 
" Turn ! strive ! avenge your native land ! 
On ! on — " The Ottowa's failing hand 

Felt that his foe was near ; 
And through the hero, back and forth, 
He plunged his keen blade to the earth, 

Then raised one long, loud whoop, 
Joined only with the eagle's cry. 
Now circling, faster through the sky. 

With near and nearer swoop ; 
And when they died away at last, 
Tecumseh's mighty soul had passed. 



" Stay, murderer !" Moray cried, and flew. 
With steps of fire, the forest through. 
De Vere beheld : on powerful steed 
He flung the girl. — Avenger, speed ! 
Thou never yet greater need. 

Though thou didst x...i, through axe and knife, 
Such strange and fearful race for life ! — 
Some paces more if thou couldst strain ! 
— De Vere had grasped the flowing mane, 
And, bounding, dashed his ro^v's deep- 
Like plunging cataract from the sleep. 
Like tigress reft of cherished young, 
Headlong the desperate lover sprung, 
With one blow cleft, as reed, in twain 
The sinewy arm that held the rein, — 
Though still its fingers kept their clasp, — 
Then seized the maid with instant grasp. 
" By Hell the fabled ! on the bier 
Alone thou'lt wed her !" foamed De Vere, 



TECUMSEH. 289 

And with his left hand fiercely pressed 
His dagger to her faded breast ; 
But, ere 'twas driven, a sudden blow 
Stunned soul and sense. With groanings low 
He fell, yet by the stirrup hung 
His charger's trampling feet among. 
Who, snorting then with rage and fear, 
Dashed off upon his wild career. 



Through marsh and wood, with thickets grown, 
O'erbrambly banks, o'er log and stone, 
In maddening terror, on — still on — 
Plunged the strong steed, at every bound 
Hurling the torn wretch on the ground. 
Or tossing him in air. The skies 
Were pierced with his awakened cries, 
As, crashed on rock or massive tree. 
Arose his voice of agony, 
Till, as they dimly disappeared, 
One last, long fearful shriek was heard, 
As if apart his limbs were rivpq. 
A moment more, and theyS ■ ^iven 
Unto each straining gaze a^urn. 
As, bursting forth on open plain, 
The savage horse whirled faster there 
The head, and half the body bare, 
Torn lengthwise, w, upheaved in air, 
Now flung to earth ; and, far as eye 
Could view between the plain and sky, 
That furious brute still onward tore, 
And still that ghastly burden bore — 
The rended corse, yet darkly swinging, 
The cleft arm, to the bridle clinging I 
25 



y90 TECUMSEH. 



From that strange scene of guilt and pain 

Unto each other turned the twain, 

With thoughts unuttered. Joy was theirs 

Which speaks not, save in voiceless prayers; 

And Mary, suddenly so blest, 

Wept deep and long on Moray's breast 

—Returning slow, their steps were led 

Along the field of changeless dead. 

Upon the battle's edge was cast, 

Where rallied, fought, and fell the last, 

0-wa-o-la, in slaughter laid. 

Still grasping to his hatchet's blade. 

His heart was hushed — his bosom cold- — 

Revenge untaken — love untold ! 

And Moray gazed, but silently, 

For he had felt that this would be : 

But that unseen, unbidden tear 

For one untutored, yet so dear, 

Was more than all that pomp can pay 

To the cold sense of coffined clay. 

— Beyond, amid the fresh, bright blood, 

The old man of the Wabash stood 

By his two sons, on whom he gazed, 

Nor once his eyes of sorrow raised. 

Few were his tears : his features there 

Were resignation and despair. 

" Three," said he, "rest in Wabash grave. 

And two will sleep by Thames's wave, 

And I must go my way alone. 

We're far apart — but Heaven is one !" 

"Nay !" Moray cried, " I'll be thy son { 

Where dark Miami's waters roam. 

This dearest maiden's ruined home 

We will renew ; and thou shalt share, 

With my own sire, my love and care !" 



TECUMSEH, 



XLV. 



291 



Near by was Wyan laid to rest, 

The Ottowa's hatchet in his breast ; 

And over him was Moray's heart 

Breathing its wordless grief apart, 

When fixed his gaze a sadder scene : 

Upon the gory ground, between 

Tecumseh and his mortal foe. 

He saw Omeena sitting low. 

She shed no tears : upon her brow, 

And in her eyes, there rested now 

The depths of calmness ; yet was seen 

Unuttered woe in all her mien. 

Her sire's clenched hand, still starkly pressed 

With red knife, to the hero's breast, 

She drew away, and, from the ground, 

The torn plume laid on that last wound ; 

Then, gazing on each changeless face, 

She did these sorrowing accents raise . 

XLVI. 

THE LAMENT. 

" Thus art thou fallen, ray father ! 

Thou wilt not dwell by Huron's shore ! 
Thou shalt unto the strife of men 
Go forth no more ! 
Alas ! no more shalt thou, returning home. 
Make glad thy daughter's heart to see thee come 1 

" Our home will be the stranger's ! 

Pale feet shall pass by its blue wave. 
Pale feet shall tread, in heedless mood, 
My mother's grave ! — 
I cannot tell — but wherefore should we stay, 
When the Great Spirit gives our land away 1 



IE3 TECUMSEH. 

" But thee, most glorious chieftain l 

How shall my sorrow speak to thee^ 
Great man ! avenger of thy race ! 
Their destiny ! 
Thou wast the bright and solitary star : 
Omeena loved to look on thee afar ! 

" And now, O matchless warrior ! 

Ah ! where is now thine arm of might ? 
Thy voice, the terrible in war ] 
Thine eye of light ?— 
And yet I knew thou couldst not choose but die !: 
I knew thou wouldst not from the battle fly ! 

" It was not well, my father ! 

To add thy stroke to hostile blows : 
'Tis sad when two, who love their land> 
Are mortal foes ! 
Lo ! now our sun is set, our day is o'er i 
Ah ! be ye friends upon the Spirit Shore ! 

" How cold Tecumseh sleepeth ! 

He cannot hear my mourning call : 
Yet, say, O heart ! hath he not fallen. 
As brave men fall ]— 
Daughter of Pontiac ! wherefore lingerest long J. 
Thus, thus I end my sorrow and my song !" 

She ceased, and, ceasing, struck the blade, 
Wherewith her sire's revenge was paid. 
To her own heart ; then, drooping, pressed 
The bare earth by each chieftain's breast. 
Thrust back the hands would stanch the tide,. 
And, fondly each embracing,^-died. 



By Thames's darkly wandering wave 
There is a rude and humble grave. 



TECUMSEH. 

In place of mausoleum high, 

The hoar trees arch their canopy ; 

Instead of storied marble shining, 

Are loose gray stones, in moss reclining, 

And, ages laid ak)ng its side. 

One chieftain oak, in fallen pride. 

No evil thing, 'tis said, hath birth, 

Or grows, within that lowly earth. 

Or, if they may, with reverent love 

Do Indian hands the harm remove ; 

But there the wild-vine greenly wreathes, 

And there the wild-rose sweetly breathes, 

And willows, in eternal gloom. 

Are mourning round that lonely tomb. 

And oft, at morn, or evening gray. 

As fondly Indian legends say, 

Nor such be theme for scorn, 
Slow circling round on dusky wing, 
Or on that huge oak hovering. 

With plumage stained and torn, 
A solitary eagle there appears. 
Watching that silent tomb, as pass the cloudy years. 



293 



25^ 



NOTES. 



CANTO I. 

free-born Hesperia. — Introduction. 

It is an unhappy circumstance with regard to this country, that it has no 
decent name, poetical or practical. To be called Americans is no designa- 
tion, as we have no right to the title, more than inhabitants of the southern 
continent. The appellation of North American is nearly as indefinite, be- 
longing as much to a Texian, Canadian, or Greenlander, as to us. There are 
United States in South America, as well as here : and the term Yankee, were 
it any thing more than a nick-name of somewhat doubtful character, can 
apply only to New-England. Among foreigners, therefore, we have no ap- 
propriate designation, except as Citizens of the United States of North 
America ; and half of a man's ideas would run away before this could be 
well uttered. 

As to poetical titles, we have never had any, except Columbia, which is 
equally indefinite, as well as inappropriate, and seems of late to be generally 
discarded. I have, therefore, felt the necessity of finding some new name. 
What I have chosen cannot, indeed, be appropriated exclusive for this coun- 
try, unless, it may be, by right of " prime usage" ; but its classical beauty 
allured me to the choice. With the ancients the evening star was Hesperus ; 
and the epithet, Hesperian, has been applied to regions west, and still farther 
west, as the "star of empire has taken its way." The Grecians gave it to 
Italy, the Italians to Spain, and various writers to the new world of Columbus. 

Where ijet our Father's stniles do play. — Stanza v. 

Notribeof Norih American Indians, except the Natchesof the Mississippi, 

long since extinct, have ever considered themselves, like the Peruvians, real 

descendants of the Sun. The epithet, however, was constantly employed by 

them poetically, or in their oratorj\ 

Where brave souls, Indian legends tell, 

Beyond his golden palace dwell. 
All Indian ideas of the Land of Spirits united in placing it towards the 
sunset, surrounded bj- clear waters, and enjoying the most delightful climate. 
Their notions of sucli a climate, however, varied with the nature of the coun- 
try which each tribe inhabited. To the Chippewyans, living between the 
parallels of lat. 60 and G5 north, where the ground rarely thaws, and pro- 
duces nothing but moss, " perpetual verdure and fertility, and waters unin- 
cumbered with ice, are voluptuous images. Hence they imagine that, after 



296 NOTES. 

death, they shall inhabit a most beautiful island in the centre of an extensive 
lake. On the surface of this lake tliey will embark in a stone canoe, and, if 
their actions have been generally good, will be borne by a gentle current to 
their delightful and eternal abode." — Mackenzie. 

The natives of the South, naturallj' placing their enjoyments in things 
opposite to the violence of a tropical climate, supposed it to be a country 
"of delicious fruits, cool shades, and murmuring rivulets; where drought 
never rages, and the hurricane is never felt." 

wizard stream. — Stanza xxv. 

This epithet, fronj Milton's 

Where wandering Deva spreads her wizard stream, 
was applied to the Hudson on account of the strange enchantment, which a 
few sketches from a gifted pen have flung over its wild, romantic region. 

Till at the last they reared their hrows. — Stanza xxx. 
The banks of the Ohio below Shawneetown are the loftiest on the river, 
rising several hundred feet on each side. 

And our Father's sister gazeth. — Stanza xxxir. 
As the Indian figuratively calls the sun his father, so the moon is termed 
the sister of the sun^ 

Still brooding o'er his own sweet words. — Stanza xxxiir. 
*<And o'er her own sweet voice :he stock-dove broods." — Wordsworth. 

CANTO II. 

A hvge, rude pile, built up of old 
By hands long since forgot and cold. — Stanza, i. 
With regard to the origin of the western mounds little can be satisfactorily 
determined, except that they were evidently built by a race no longer exist- 
ing. The Lenape have a tradition, that their fathers crossed the Mississippi 
from the West, and found on this side a nation called Alligewi, from whoni 
the Alleghany river and mountains received their name. " Many wonderful 
things," says Heckewelder, 'are related of this famous people. The}' are 
said to have been remarkably stout and tall; and there is a tradition that 
there were giants among them — people of a much larger size than the tallest 
of the Lenape." After describing two old entrenchments supposed to have 
been built by them, he says : " Outside of the gateway of each of these two 
entrenchments, which lay within a mile of each other, were a number of 
large flat mounds, in which, the Indian pilot said, were buried hundreds of 
the slain Alligewi." They are found from central New-York and Lake Erie, 
to the borders of .Mexico, through all the immense Valley of tlie Mississippi, 
between the Alleghanies and the Rocky Mountains. They are of all shapes, 
round, square or oblong, flat, pyramidal or truncated ; and of all sizes, from 
five to a hundred feet in height, and from a hundred to three thousand feot 
in circumference. 



NOTES. 297 

Equally unkuowu to us is the purpose for which they were erected. That 
they were used for toinbs, is certain, for hundreds have been excavated, and 
but few found without skeletons, either single or in numbers ; sometimes in 
the bare earth, often in rude stone chests or coffins. But that this was not 
altogether their desig n, is equally evident, as they frequently present the ap- 
pearance of fortifications, with trenches, angles and circumvallations. — A full 
account of them will be found in Bradford's Antiquities, by far the best work 
which has yet appeared on the subject. 

A prairie's boimdless prospect Imj, 

Like solemn Ocean. 
The western prairies present, as is well known, especially in summer and 
autumn, an appearance similar to the ocean. On the lower portions the grass 
grows often as high as a man's head. 

Stanzas ii and iii. 
The various accounts of the two brothers agree, in most respects, with re- 
gard to their personal appearance. Tecumseh is represented to have been 
about " six feet high, noble in appearance, symmetrical in form, in carriage 
lofty and erect." " Els-kwa-ta-wa, also, was tall and graceful in action, but 
too slender to be finely proportioned, with keen eyes and a thin gloomy vis- 
age." As widely different were their dispositions and characters. " Te- 
cumseh," says Thatcher in his excellent biography, "was frank, warlike, 
persuasive in his oratory, popular in his manners, irreproachable in his 
habits of life. Els-kwa-ta-wa had more cunning than courage ; and a 
stronger disposition to talk than to fight, or exert himself in any other way. 
But he was subtle, fluent, persevering, and self-possessed." They were, how- 
ever, well formed to scheme and execute their plans together. The one be- 
came a prophet, crafty and cruel, haranguing wherever be could get a 
hearer; the other carried out his designs, thus supported, into boldness and 
energy of action. 

Their first interview, for the purpose of leaguing the western Indians 
against the encroachments of the whites, is said to have taken place in 1804, 
by some, in the summer of 1806. After this period their meetings became 
frequent, their efforts untiring ; and the result was the acquisition to Te- 
cumseh of greater power than perhaps any Indian of the continent has ever 
possessed. 

Tecumseh was pronounced Tecumthc, and is said by some to have signi- 
fied a crouching panther; by others a falling star. The name, Els-kwa- 
ta-wa, should be accented, I believe, on the second syllable, rather than the 
third ; but I could not determine it, till the poem was completed. It is not, 
however, of material importance. 

sa7j hath he been, 

Where once the Shawnecs home was seen. — Stanza v. 
The Shawnees, or Shawanese, came originally from the South, (as their 
name, from the Delaware word Shawaneu, South, indicate?,) dwelling around 
Savannah, in Georgia, and in the Floridas. They were, as Loskicl repre- 



298 NOTES. 

sents tbem, " a restless people, delighting in wars, and the most savage of 
the Indian nations." For this reason their neighbors, the Cherokees, Choc- 
taws, Creeks and Yemassees, formed a league to expel them from the coun- 
try. But the Shawnees wisely retired before them, and settled north upon 
the Ohio ; some of them as far up as the site of the French fort Duquesne, — 
now Pittsburg, — and others on the forks of the Delaware and along the 
Scioto. Tecumseh himself was born, and passed his childhood, on the banks 
of the Scioto, near Chilicothe, tiiough his mother was a Cherokee captive 
adopted into the nation. In 1780, the continental troops expelled that por- 
tion of the tribe from their pleasant home, and burned their villages behind 
them ; with what reason or justice, I have not been able to discover. " Pro- 
bably at this very time," says Thatcher, " the young hero, who afterwards 
kindled the flame of war upon the entire frontier of the states, by the breath 
of his own single spirit, was learning his first lessons of vengeance amid the 
ruins of his native land, and in the blood of his countrymen." 

The red-man quaffa the drink of fire, 

Till made a coward, slave and liar, 

Worse than the pale-face. — Stanza vi. 
The devoted and fatal attachment of the Indian tribes for ardent spirits, 
is a thing of melancholy notoriety. It is this, more than any thing else, 
which has corrupted and ruined them, destroying their savage virtues, and 
bestowing, instead, the worst vices of the whites. From the earliest settle- 
ments on their coasts, this has been the case; and it is matter of history, 
that many hard bargains for theiv wild-skins, and their hunting grounds, 
have been made through its influence by French, English and Americans. 

Father of Waters. — Stanza vi. 

This is the meaning of the word Mississippi, in the Indian tongue, given 
to that majestic river on account of its superior current, and the number of 
great streams received into it from each side. They have always regarded 
the Mississippi with a kind of veneration. 

Far and near 
The prophet's words are words o/ /ear.— Stanza vii. 
The power which Els-kwa-tii-wa obtained in the course of four years was 
immense. His injunctions at first were certainly very excellent, and not un- 
worthy of being commended to some civilized people. There was to be no 
more fighting between the tribes — they were brethren. They were to aban- 
don the use of ardent spirits, and to wear skins as their ancestors had done, 
instead of blankets. Stealing, quarreling, and other immoral habits, were 
also denounced. Adding to these plausible counsels many superstitious di- 
rections and ceremonies, he gained such influence, that his nod was law, and 
any command, however terrible, was obeyed. 

Let no sacrifice 

Of red-men to thy wrath be burned. — Stanza viir. 
Els-kwa-la-wa possessod, perhaps, as much love for his country and pure 



NOTES. 299 

resentmeat for the wrongs of his race, as did Tecumseh ; but he was natu- 
rally more cruel, the part he was to act, in furtherance of their schemes, called 
for continual art and deception, and bis whole policy, in accordance, was 
crafty and unscrupulous, 

" Disaffection and indifl'erence were not the only obstacles the Prophet and 
his brother were obliged to surmount. The chiefs of most of the tribes were 
their resolute opponents. They were jealous or suspicious of the new pre- 
tenders, ridiculed and reproached them, and thwarted their exertions in 
every possible way. What was to be done with these persons? Elskwa- 
tawa availed himself of a new department of that unfailing snperstition 
which had hitherto befriended him ; and a charge of witchcraft was brought 
up. His satellites and scouts being engaged in all directions in ascertaining 
who were, or were likely to be, his friends or his enemies, it was readily de- 
termined, at head-quarters, who should be accuhcd. Judge, jury and testi- 
monj' were also provided with the eiune ease. He had already taken such 
means of gaining the implicit confidence of his votaries, that his own sugges- 
tions were considered the best possible evidence, and the most infallible de- 
cision ; and the optics of his followers becoming every day more keen, upon 
his authority, there was no want of the most suitable convicts." " The In- 
dians universally have an extreme horror of a wizard or a witch, which no 
reputation, rank, age, or services, are s^ufRcient to counteract ; and of course, 
resistance or remonstrance on the part even of an accused chieftain, only 
went to exaspei-ate and hasten the sure destruction which awaited him." — 
Thatcher. 

Tecumseh, frank and generoas in disposition, and above board in all his 
actions, was opposed to such measures, and finally exacted a promise to de- 
sist. He would, probably, never have allowed it at all, but for the difficulty 
of acting without the Prophet. 

Swarth, Jiery Ottowas had come 
From Huroii's dark-blue water. — Stanza X. 
This tribe, when the commerce of the early French colonists of Canada 
first began to extend itself to the Upper Lakes, was found in their vicinity, 
and especially near Macinaw. It is s^upposcd they were originally a scion of 
the Algonquin stock, settled in Champlain's time along the north banks of 
the St. Lawrence, between Quebec and Lake St. Peters. They were a brave 
and haughty race, always friendly to the French, hostile to the English and 
afterwards to the Americans. 

Which made that name the white-man^s dread. 
The chief, under whom the Ottowas rose to their highest power, was 
Pontiac, a name worthy of being classed with Philip and Tecumseh, as one 
of the three great agitators of their centuries. The history of that period is 
filled with accounts of his shrewdness, generosity, courage and unyielding 
hostility. There was something altogether regal about him. He considered 
himself the firm friend of the French King, but as owing no allegiance; his 
own tribe was powerful; his influence over the neighboring tribes, from 
Superior to the Potomac, almost unbounded ; and, to complete the character 



300 NOTES. 

of a monarch, his personal bearing was proud and independent. He saw the 
aggressions of the whites, and the probable ruin of his race, if they remained 
inactive. He resolved to be in time and extirpate them, not only from his 
own possessions — the woods and waters of the Great Lakes — but from the 
country. His efforts and combinations to this end are equalled only by those 
of Tecumseh at a later day, and evince extraordinary genius, as well as 
courage and energy. Very speedily he had effected a league of the Ottowas, 
Chippewas, Pottawatamies, Miamies, Sacs, Foxes, Menominees, Wyandots, 
Missisagues, Shawnees, Delawares of Ohio aod Pennsylvania, and the Six 
Nations of New-York ; and a vast system of contemporaneous attack was 
planned, comprehending ail the British positions from Niagara to Green Bay 
and the Potomac. The plan was matured, and nine forts were captured in 
one day. His death took place in 1T67, being assassinated at a council 
among the Illinois by a Peoria Indian. 

And I to Areouski made.— Stanza xiv. 
Areouski or Areskoui, as some write it, is the Indian battle-god, though 
supposed also to possess many attributes of the Supreme Being. " II paroit, 
madanie, que dans ces chansons on invoque le dieu de la guerre, quo les 
Hurons appcllent Areskoui et les Iroquois Agreskoue. Je ne scai pas quel 
norn au lui donne dans les langues Algonquines." " L^ Areskoui des Hurons 
et V Agreskoue des Iroquois est dans I'opinion de ces peuples le Souverain 
Etre, et le Dieu de la Guerre." — Charlevoix, iii. 207-344 

The Great Maniito by them stood. — Stanza xix. 

" The name Manittoe is common among all the tribes from Arkansas to 
the sources of the Mississippi, and, according to Mackenzie, through the arc- 
tic regions." — Schoolcraft's Travels, p. 88. 

How the word should be pronounced I cannot determine. Some accent 
the first syllable. Thus Campbell in " Gertrude of Wj-oniing :" 

" As when the evil Manitou that dries 
The Ohio woods," &c. 

Others write it Manitto and accent the second syllable. I have taken the last 
for metrical reasons. 

" X,o .' let us speak of things that were, tfc. — Stanza xix. 
The recitals, which the Indians give of the coming of the white people 
among them, are long and painful. They are continually dwelling with a 
melancholy pleasure on the long and peaceful lives, which their forefathers 
enjoyed, when they were unmolested and contented in their native wilds, 
and their wants were all supplied, because they were few. Then come 
mournful accounts of the appearance of the pale-face among them, of the 
seizure of their lauds, and their gradual decay and departure from their 
former homes, till they can only consider themselves as exiles and wanderers. 
Some of these accounts are quite amusing, others very affecting. The fol- 
lowing, relating to the landing of the Dutch, will be judged to be both, though 
the amusing ratlier predominates. 



NOTES. 301 

"A great many winters ago," S3y the Dclawares, "when men with a white 
skin had never yet been seen in this land, some Indians, who were out a 
fishing at a place where the sea widens, espied at a great distance something 
remarkably large floating on the water, and such as they had never seen 
before. Some thought it an uncommonly great fish ; others were of opinion 
it must be a very big house floating on the water." The tradition goes ou 
to state, that runners were sent off with great haste in every direction ; their 
chiefs and warriors were assembled, to view the strange appearance; and 
it was presently concluded, that the Great Mauitto himself was come in a 
huge wigwam, to make them a visit. Then the conjurors were set to work ; 
extensive measures were taken to provide meat for an offering; the women 
were hurried about in the way of cooking ; the images were examined and 
put in the best order; and a grand dance, with a great sacrifice, it was sup- 
posed, would be accepted, as an agreeable entertainment. 

Verj' soon the strange house came warping along up ; then a little 
canoe was dropped down, and paddled towards them by several beings, 
qucerly dressed — especially a thick, chunky man, entirely in flaming red, 
who, of course, must be the Manitto; though why he should lia\e a white 
skin, it was not so easy to determine. Some were for running off to the 
woods ; but it was concluded on the whole safer to stay. 

Then the chiefs, wise men, and particularly brave warriors, spread them- 
selves out into a great circle, towards which the being in red clothes ap- 
proached with an attendant. The attendant taking a large hackhack or 
junk bottle, poured out some strange water into a little cup and gave it to 
the Manitto. The red personage drinks, fills the cup again, smacks his lips, 
and hands it to the chief next to him. The chief sagely smells the contents 
and passes it unto the next, who considers it as safe as any way, to do the 
same. So the cup pas.ses around the circle, and is about to be returned uu- 
tasted, when a brave man and a great warrior, jumps up and harangues the 
assembly on the impropriety of returning the cup in this manner. To please 
the Manitto, they ought to follow his example ; otherwise, they might make 
him mad ; and, as no one else would drink the contents, he would do it him- 
self, be the consequence what it might: it was better for one man to die 
than that a whole nation should be destroyed. Accordingly, he took the 
cup, and, bidding the assembly a solemn farewell, emptied it at once — an act 
certainly in no way inferior to that of Curtius leaping into the chasm to save 
Rome. Every eye was fixed on the resolute chief to see the effect. Pre- 
sently he staggered and fell. But while his companions silently lament his 
fate, he wakes again, jumps up and declares that he never felt so happy 
and — asks for more. This seemed remarkable and worth trying : — the whole 
assembly imitated him, and were very speedily in a most ecstatic state, the 
world around them appearing more extraordinary than it ever did before. 

While the Delawaros on shore embraced each other, climbed trees and 
got down again, raced into the water and out, stood on their heads in the 
sand, and executed a number of feats, such as no Indian had ever achieved, 
the Dutchmen cautiouslj' confined themselves to their floating house. But 
when it was all over, and the earth seemed as old-fashioned as ever, they 

26 



302 NOTES. 

returned, distributed presents of axes, hoes and stockings, gave the Indians 
to understand that they would return next year, and then set sail. 

The next year they came again, and, after laughing at the Delawares, by 
way of reproof, for hanging the hoes and axes about their necks as orna- 
ments, and making tobacco-pouches of the stockings, just to show them 
how to do things, cut down trees with the axes, hoed up the ground, and 
put the stockings on their legs — whereupon the Indians marvelled at their 
lack of discernment. Then the whites asked for a spot of ground, to raise 
a few herbs for their sovp, so large only as a bullock's hide would en- 
compass. This being a small aflair, was readily granted ; but the whites 
took a kiiife, cut the whole hide into one long string, and enclosed with 
it a very large piece ; — by which, moreover, it appears they turned their 
classical knowledge, resptcting Queen Dido, to good account. "And here," 
say the Delawares, " we might first have observed their deceitful spirit. 
They wanted only a little, little laud to raise greens on, instead of which 
they planted o-rcat o-Mws ; afterwards they built strong houses, made them- 
selves masters of the island, and at last drove us entirely out of the coun- 
try." " We and our kindred tribes lived in peace and harmony before the 
coming of the whites ; our council-house extended far to the north and far 
to the sou^h. In the middle of it we could meet from all parts, and smoke 
the pipe of peace together. It was we, it was our forefathers, who made 
the strangers welcome, and let them sit dowu by our side. We knew not 
but the Great Spirit had sent them for some good purpose. We were mis- 
taken ; for no sooner had they obtained a footing on our lands, than they 
pulled dowu our council-house and extinguished the bright fire in the centre 
with our own blood — with the blood of those who had welcomed them!'' 
"We are driven bacU," said an old warrior of a western tribe, "till we can 
retreat no farther — our hatchets are broken — our bows are snapped— our 
fires are nearly extinguished: a little longer, and the white-man will cease 
to persecute — for we shall cease to exist!" Of the same import is a long 
passage in the masterly speech of lied Jacket, as given in the fine biography 
of him by Col. Stone. 

Their feelings, indeed, when occupied with these melancholy reminis- 
cences, are often seen, of late, to break through their natural or acquired 
stoicism. A friend of miue, who had resided some years at the southwest, 
told me, that a young warrior, whose tribe was to be removed beyond the 
Mississippi, after conversing with him a long time, one day, with lamenta- 
tions and tears, about their aucieut glory and power, their multiplied wrongs 
and dark prospects, turned then more calmly away, chanted a wild, low 
song, and rushing from the house, cut a slender rod, and discharged the con- 
tents of bis loaded rifle into his own heart. 

The captive saw his only chance 
Of saving life, ^c — Stanza xxvi. 
The captive is made to run several miles and escape from a multitude of 
Bwift-footed Indians. This may appear to some incredible ; but the truth is, 
that the best runners among the whites are swifter than any Indians, as they 
are also acknowledged to be more expert with the rifle. There are, besides, 
accounts of several such races, given on good authority. The most extraor- 
dinary is that, related of one Coulter, in Mr. Irving's "Astoria." 



NOTES. 303 

The prairie was on fire. — Stanza xxx. 
The great Western Prairies have been burnt more or less every season for 
years. Sometimes they are fired accidentally, but generally by the Indians, 
for the purpose of obtaining quick and fresh feed in the spring. They form, 
especially in the night, a very sublime spectacle— equalled only by the burn- 
ing of an American forest. It is said, that in a still time the roar of the 
flames can be heard two or three leagues. 

It was a pit, deep, damp, and round. — Stanza xxxir. 
These are frequently found in the prairies, sometimes several feet deep. 
In the spring they are filled with water; in summer, more or less dry. To 
what cause they are to be ascribed, I am not aware. 

Btj some green course. 

There are often long, shallow valleys, where more water is found, and 
the herbage consequently more verdant. 

Fast hound her to the Tree of Death. — Stanza xxxiv. 
At all Indian villages or fixed encampments, they were accustomed to have 
some particular post, to which their victims were tied for torture. This was 
sometimes a stake, sometimes a small tree, peeled and withered. 

CANTO III. 

On the side 

Of wild Kkuhawa, Sfc. — Stanza iit. 
The battle of the Great Kenhawa took place, as is well known, through the 
instigations of the celebrated Logan, in vengeance for the infamous murder 
of all his family by some vagabond whites. In this case, as in a hundred 
others, the murderers were not punished ; for many considered the killing of 
an Indian, like the slaughter of a wild-beast, something meritorious thaa 
otherwise. By all accounts, Tecumseh's father was slain in this engage- 
ment. 

As through some dbbeij of olden time. — Stanza vi. 
Our noble western forests, where the trees are large and far apart, fre- 
quently present, especially when their leaves are faded in autumn, very 
much the appearance of Gothic cathedrals with their stained windows. In 
Irving's '-Tour on the Prairie" is an observation to this effect. It is said, 
indeed, that the Gothic order of architecture was derived from the temples 
of the Druids, which were nothing more than " God's first temples" — the 
groves. 

If any eye had in that hour, Sfc. — Stanza vii. 

The general impression, that the American Indian never sheds tears, and, 

in fact, has but a small share of sensibility, is altogether false. He trains 

himself to a perfect command of countenance, and repression of all feeling, 

for the pride of exhibition before strangers or enemies ; but alone, or in the 



304 NOTES. 

circle of domestic afFection, his outward emotions, his smiles, his tears, are 
free and frequent. 

Then from that forest tomb he passed. — Stanza x. 
Tecumseh's visits to the tribes were made at different times. I have ven- 
tured, by poetic license, to put them all into one. He did, however, actually 
go to all the tribes from Superior to the Gulph of Mexico. 

great birth 

Art thou, Missouri, of the earth. — Stanza x. 
The Missouri is the longest river in the world ; for what is called the Mis- 
sissippi, below their junction, should be named Missouri, since the latter is' 
at that place, two or three times wider, and has run twice as far. The whole 
of its course to the ocean is estimated at 4,500 miles. The Amazon flows 
4,000 miles, the Mississippi 3,600. 

That, from his noble nature weaned, 
But make the savage all a fend. — Stanza xi. 
The approach of civilization has been but sorrow and ruin to the Indian, 
with scarcely a ray of benefit. They learn from it all that is evil, little that 
is good. From the first they have withered and fallen before its light, yet, 
by some fatal attraction, instead of flying to the farthest wilderness, still 
linger upon its borders, as the deer will draw around the hunter's fire, till 
the arrow is in his heart. Thus it is, that "the proud and high-souled being, 
in whose heart," as an eloquent writer has observed, " the lightning slept, as 
it sleeps in the folded cloud," has become on all the advancing frontiers broken- 
spirited, mean and degraded. " Our vices," says Heckewelder, " have de- 
stroyed them more than our swords." 

Sacs, Foxes, restless loways, ifc. — Stanza xu. 
All the tribes mentioned in the tour of Tecumseh were, as far as I can 
discover, at that time resident in the several places assigned. Many of their 
dwelling places are now changed. 

Were thrilled through utmost soul and sense, ifc. — Stanza xu. 
The eloquence of Tecumseh is represented as having been in all respects 
remarkable. His sarcastic and severe speech to Gen. Proctor, when he was 
about to retreat from Maiden, as given in Thiitcher, is a good instance of his 
common manner. As Charlevoix says of the Canadian savages, it was " such 
as the Greeks admired in the barbarians," strong, stern, sententious, pointed, 
perfectly undisguised. But that was not an occasion for him to be eloquent. 
"It was only," says Thatcher, " when he spoke for the explanation or vindi- 
cation of that great cause to which his whole heart and mind were devoted, 
that he indulged himself in any thing beyond the laconic language of neces- 
sity. His a|>pearance was always noble— his form symmetrical— his carriage 
erect and lofty — his motions commanding — but under the excitement of his 
favorite theme, he became a new being. The artifice of the politician, the 
diffidence of the stranger, the demure dignity of the warrior, were cast 



NOTES. 305 

aside like a cloak. His fine countenance lighted up with a fiery and haughty- 
pride. His frame swelled with emotion. Every posture and every gesture 
had its eloquent meaning. And then language indeed — the irrepressible out- 
breaking of nature — flowed glowing from the passion-fountains of the soul." 
The best example of such a speech is to be found in Hunter's Memoirs of 
his Captivity. Tecumseh had arrived among the Osages. The ciiiefs and 
warriors were so agitated with his eloquence, that tiiey adjourned the coun- 
cil immediately, and dared not come to a decision for some days. His pro- 
posals were, however, in the end rejected, through the influence of some 
old chiefs, friendly to the Americans ; but I can find no other instance 
among all the tribes visited by him. They were all persuaded at the time : 
it was the untimely battle of the Wabash, which afterwards broke the 
league. "1 wish it was in my power," says Hunter, " to do justice to the 
eloquence of this distinguished man; but it is utterly impossible. The 
richest colors, shaded with a master's pencil, would fall infinitely short of 
the glowing finish of the original. The occasion and subject were pecu- 
liarly adapted to call into action all the powers of genuine patriotism ; and 
such language, such gestures, such feelings, and fulness of soul contending 
for utterance, were exhibited by this untutored native of the forest in the 
central wilds of America, as no audience, I am persuaded either in ancient 
or modern times, ever before witnessed." 

" Brothers, — We all belong to one family : we are all children of the Great 
Spirit ; we walk in the same path ; slake our thirst at the same spring ; and 
now aflairs of the greatest concern lead us to smoke the pipe around the 
same council fire ! 

" Brothers, — We are friends ; we must assist each other to bear our bur- 
thens. The blood of many of our fathers and brothers has run like water 
on the ground, to satisfy the avarice of the white men. We, ourselves, are 
threatened with a great evil ; nothing will pacify them but the destruction 
of all the red men. 

" Brothers, — When the white men first set foot on our grounds, they were 
hungry ; they had no place on which to spread their blankets, or to kindle 
their fires. They were feeble ; they could do nothing for themselves. Our 
fathers commiserated their distress, and shared freely with them whatever 
the Great Spirit had given his red children. They gave them food when 
hungry, medicine when sick, spread skins for them to sleep on, and gave 
them grounds, that they might hunt and raise corn. Brothers, the white 
people are like poisonous serpents ; when chilled, they are feeble and harm- 
less ; but invigorate them with warmth, and they sting their benefactors to 
death. 

"The white people came among us feeble ; and now we have made them 
strong, they wish to kill us, or drive us back, as they would wolves and 
panthers. 

" Brothers, — The white men are not friends to the Indians : at first, they 
only asked for land sutficient for a wigwam ; now nothing will satisfy them 
but the wiiole of our hunting grounds, from the rising to the setting sun. 

"Brothers, — The white men want more than our hunting grounds; they 

26* 



306 



NOTES. 



wish to kill our warriors ; they would eveu kill our old men, women, and 
little ones. 

" Brothers, — Many winters ago, there was no laud ; the sun did not rise 
and set: all was darkness. The Great Spirit made all things. He gave the 
white people a home beyond the great waters. He supplied these grounds 
•with game, and gave them to his red children ; and he gave them strength 
and courago to defend them. 

" Brothers, — My people wish for peace: the red men all wish for peace; 
but where the white people are, there is no peace for them, except it be on 
the boBom of our mother. 

"Brothers, — The white men despise and cheat the Indians; they abuse 
and insult them ; they do not think the red men sufficiently good to live. 

" The red men have borne many and great injuries ; they ought to suffer 
them no longer. Wy people will not ; they are determined on vengeance ; 
they have taken up the tomahawk : they will make it fat with blood ; they 
will drink the blood of the white people. 

"Brothers, — My people are brave and numerous; but the white people 
are too strong for them alone. I wish you to take up the tomahawk with 
them. If we all unite, we will cause the rivers to stain the great waters 
with their tlood. 

" Brothers, — If you do not unite with us, they will first destroy us, and 
then you will fall an easy prey to them. They have destroyed many nations 
of red -men because they were not united, because they were not friends to 
each other. 

" Brothers, — The white people send runners among us; they wish to make 
us enemies, that they may sweep over and desolate our hunting grounds, 
like devastating winds, or rushing waters. 

"Brothers, — Our Great Father, over the great waters, is angry with the 
white people, our enemies. He will send his brave warriors against them ; 
he will send us rifles, and whatever else we want — he is our friend, and we 
are his children. 

" Brothers, — Who are the white people that we should fear them ? They 
cannot run fast, and are good marks to shoot at : they are only men ; our 
fathers have killed many of them : we are not squaws, and we will stain the 
earth red with their blood. 

" Brothers, — The Great Spirit is angry with our enemies ; he speaks in 
thunder, and the earth swallows up villages, and drinks up the Mississippi. 
The great waters will cover their lowlands ; their corn canrot grow ; and 
the Great Spirit will sweep those who escape to the hills from the earth 
with his terrible breath. 

"Brothers, — We must be united; we must smoke the same pipe; we 
must fight each other's battles ; and more than all, we must love the Great 
Spirit ; he is for us ; he will destroy our enemies, and make all his red 
children happy." 

To end this notice of his eloquence, I v/ill give his reply to Gen. Harrison, 
in a council at Vincennes. Tecumseh was wearied with speaking, and 
looked around for a chair. By mistake, none had been provided. General 
Harrison perceived it, and the interpreter handed one to the orator, saying 
•' Your Father requeets you to take a chair." *'My Father!" said the chief 



NOTES. 307 

proudly, — " The sun is my father, and the earth my mother; on her bosom 
will I repose!" And suiting the action to the words, he flung himself on the 
ground. We challenge all ancient and modern eloquence to produce a finer 
retort. 

And well 'twas seen, their hearts had not 
His burning- words, their vows forgot. 
In after years, by midnight cries, ifc. — Stanza xvii. 
The devastation and massacres, made by the southern Indians after the 
war, have been attributed to Tecumseh's visit. 

In Osceola's liquid name, <^c. — Stanza xviii. 
In the late Seminole war, or rather the war begun a great while ago and 
not yet ended, Os-ceo-la, a pure and noble-minded savage, was decoyed by 
a flag of truce into the camp, then put into confinement, where he died. I 
leave the reader to make his own comment. 

The Ruby Flood. — Stanza xix. 
The Camanches on the Red River are, at present, by far the most wild 
and lawless of the Indian tribes. Their sole method of making war is with 
wild horses, which they ride without bit or bridle, often with no saddle. Mr. 
Irving, however, speaks of the Pawnees, as being, at the time of his tour, 
considered singularly fierce and terrible — a kind of Arabs. 

The Black Hills sable heads arise. — Stanza xxi. 
These are a range of wild, broken heights at the base of the Rocky Moun- 
tains, presenting the appearance described. The^Indians, who reverence 
every thing in nature that is unaccountable, look upon them with great awe. 
Mr. Irving speaks, in his "Astoria," of their superstitions with regard to the 
clouds and echoes ; as "also of their singular idea as to the Rocky Mountains 
being the " crest of the world," and the dwelling-place of Wakondah — 
which word signifies the Great Spirit in the Dacotah dialect. The real name 
of the Rocky Mountains is Chippewyan, from the tribe so called, residing 
between lat. 60? and 65® North. 

Itaska's lovely Zafee.— Stanza xxiit. 
Itaska is a small sheet of water, of a few miles extent, from which the Mis- 
sissippi takes its rise. It is described by Schoolcraft as being most beautiful 
in all its features — especially on account of its shore of white sand, and the 
strange mingling of its foliage. 

Michigan's mysterious tide. — Stanza xxv. 
All of the lakes, it has been observed, have a rise and fall of about three 
feet in seven years and a half. It was noticed by the French more particu- 
larly of Michigan. 

Spirit of Fire .'—Stanza xxxiii. 
" The savages give the name of Spirit or Genius to all that surpasses 



308 NOTES. 

their understanding, or proceeds from a cause which they cannot trace. 
Some of these are good, some bad. Of the former are the Spirit of Dreams, 
&c. Of the latter Thunder, Hail, Fire, &,c"—La Hontan. 

CANTO IV. 

An Indian female feebly bending. — Stanza hi. 
This incident, of an Indian mother and her son, was suggested by a scene, 
somewhat similar, in a novel, called Els-kwa-ta-wa, or the Prophet of the 
West, where an Indian woman seeks her child with a torch by night. 

A Huron village rudely reared. — Stanza vi. 
Some miles below the Prophet's camp there was a small village of Hurons. 
That tribe formerly lived on the east side of Lake Huron; but they became 
scattered many years ago. 

And ever as they, fyc. — Stanza ix. 
All the main incidents described in the following stanzas, as the hovering 
of Indians around the army, the meeting with the Prophet's messengers, the 
ordering of the battle, and the Prophet's chanting meanwhile, are taken from 
accounts of that engagement. It was, perhaps, the most obstinate and pro- 
longed contest with the Indians on record ; for when routed, they rarely re- 
turn to the conflict. That they did so at this time, was owing to their trust in 
the Prophet's promises, that the bullets would not touch them, that they 
would be in the light, their foes in darkness, and others, of the like remark- 
able nature. 

Our Father of the Seventeen Fires. — Stanza xi. 
The Indian name for the seventeen states then existing. 

Strike .' — redeem your fathers' graves, ^c.~Stanza xxii. 
This passage resembles, more than I was aware, the well known lines in 
Marco Bozzaris — the noblest of American lyrics, and, it may be added, one of 
the finest in the language. The reader may consider it an imitation, or not, 
as he pleases. 

CANTO V. 

And filed with awe, as gleamed Manitto's eye, 
And crashed his fiery steeds along the sky. — Stanza xxv. 
Many of the operations of nature are terrible to the Indian, especially 
thunder, which always commands their reverence. 

Like those fair plains of varied dress 
The gardens of the wilderness, fyc. — Stanza xxviii. 
There has been already one description of prairie scenery. But that was 
in autumn, this is in the spring ; and their appearances are entirely different. 



NOTES. 309 

J turned so far to seek his grave 
That ill may not our steps overtake. — Stanza xxx. 
The reverence of Indians for ancient graves amounts almost to worship ; 
and they have frequently beeu known to turn aside for miles, even in im- 
portant journeys, to visit the tomb of some great and venerated chief or 
warrior. An instance of the kind is mentioned in Jefferson's Notes ou Vir- 
ginia, 

£ut that in one most frantic hour 
Thou ruindst all the handed power. — Stanza xxxii. 
It was the battle of the Wabash that broke up all Tecumseh's plans. Had 
it not been for this, the whole frontier would have been devastated with fire 
and slaughter. Yet, though his vast schemes were ruined, Tecumseh did not 
despair; or, if he despaired he was resolute. After attending two councils, 
one with the Americans, the other with the British, he again visited all the 
principle tribes, and strove to re-unite the broken league. Like Demosthenes 
of Greece, the wavering of some and the coldness of others, only roused him 
to greater efforts, and more burning eloquence. 

CANTO VI. 

On Arno's wave and soft Vauclusa's dews. — Introduction. 

The Arno runs through Florence, which was the residence of some of the 

principal Italian poets, as also of Boccaccio, their most eminent prose-writer. 

Oh! weep not now by fair Parthenope. 
Parthenope, or, of modern name, Naples, contains, as is well known, the 
tomb of Virgil. 

He sewed with fibrous wattap. — Stanza i. 
Wattap is the Indian term for the small roots of spruce, with which they 
Bcw the birch bark of their canoes. 

The morn-kissed cliffs of Mackinaw. — Stanza hi. 
This island is, perhaps, the most remarkable on the American coast. It is 
nearly three hundred feet high, with perpendicular cliffs, a fortress nearly 
on the summit, water beyond the sight on two sides, on the other two, wild, 
wooded shores. Connected with it are many curious incidents of the times 
of Pontiac and the French war. Its real name is Michilamackinac — i. e. 
Missi " great," and mackinac, the Indian word for " turtle." 

When, isle and shore, the forests seem 
The strange commingling of a dream. — Stanza v. 
This blending of all kinds of foliage forms, as fllr. Schoolcraft remarks, a 
peculiar characteristic in the scenery of the Sault St. Marie. 

and— hush thy voice, thy heart. 

Thou gazer 1 — Stanza vi. 
The entrance into Lake Superior, as all who have seen it will acknow 



310 NOTES. 

ledge, presents a scene of surpassing magnificence and beauty. The great 
chain of lakes is, in truth, the glory of North America, and unparalleled in 
the world. Of these Superior is by far the largest, being 480 miles long and 
in some places nearly 200 wide, and covering an area of 3,500 square miles. 

And as they passed grim Iroquois. — Stanza vii. 
According to Indian tradition, one of the most terrible of their battles was 
fought in this place; and it is said, so say Carver and Henry, to have given 
the name to the point. 

The sons of Tarhe. 

"As the nation has some particular symbol by which it is distinguished 

from others, so each tribe has a badge or totem, as they call it, from which it 

is denominated; as the Eagle, the Panther, the Tiger, <tc." — Carver. Of 

these Tarhe, signifying the " Crane," is the totem of some Chippewa tribes. 

And all throughout was sable leaf. — Stanza vin. 

For many miles, after passing Cape Iroquois, the coast is little else than a 
succession of dark evergreen forests. It may be doubted, however, whether 
such do not add to the wildness and even beauty of so solitary and vast a 
scene. 

Shoot past De L'Isle and bold Batture. — Stanza ix. 

These are the names of the several points, as they are called, which form 
the indentations of the coast, as are also Namacong and Vermilion below. 
Tequamenon is deeply colored, probably from its running through clay. 

The name "Obitsis" may serve to show what peculiar felicity the Ame- 
ricans possess in bestowing proper names. The voyageurs have turned it 
into " Betsy" — an improvement upon the Indian name about equal to that 
made upon the " Monedo River," which, since Monedo signifies a spirit, and 
rum is also spirit, they call Rum River. 

Where Sable^s Sandy Hills arise. — Stanza x. 
The Grand Sable extends some ten or twelve miles along the shore. " Its 
medium height, as estimated by Dr.VVolcott of the expedition, is three hun- 
dred feot, and it presents a novel and interesting appearance from the lake. 
The views, however, although generally commanding, present a great uni- 
formity, and leave upon the mind a strong impression of bleakness and de- 
solation. Even the few bushes and trees which are occasionally seen, serve 
to increase this effect by their impoverished growth, while the birds of prey 
which we observed hovering around these bleak sandy heights, could hardly 
be considered as ameliorating the dreariness of the prospect. It is impossible 
to view these stupendous sand hills, without being at the same time strongly 
impressed with the idea that they owe their arrai-gement and present order 
of superposition to the agency of water, and that this fluid has at some former 
period covered tlieir highest tops." — SchoolcrafVs Travels, p. 146. 

Sublime the Pictured Rocks arise. — Stanza xr. 
That I may not be thought to have exaggerated the sublimities of the Pic- 
tured Rocks, 1 add the description of a traveller well known for his correct 



NOTES. 311 

observations on natural scenery. "We had been told, by our Canadian 
guide, of the variety in the color and form of these rocks, but were wlioUy 
unprepared to encounter the surprising groupcs of overhanging precipices, 
towering walls, caverns, water-falls, and prostrate ruins, which are here min- 
gled in the most wonderful disorder, and burst upon the view in ever- varying 
and pleasing succession. In order to convey any just idea of their magnifi- 
cence, it is necessary to premise, that this part of the shore consists of a sand- 
stone rock of a light gray color internally, and deposited stratum super-stra- 
tum to the height of three hundred feet, rising in a perpendicular wall from 
the water, and extending from four to five leagues in length. Externally, it 
presents a great variety of color, as black, red, yellow, brown, and white, 
particularly along the most permanent parts of the shore; but where masses 
have newly fallen, its color is a light gray. In no place does the recent frac- 
ture disclose any traces of red, and the variety of outward coloring is owing 
partly to mineral waters which appear to have oozed out of the crevices of 
the rock, but mainly, to the washing down of the banks of colored clay from 
the superincumbent soil. This stupendous wall of rock, exposed to the fury 
of the waves, which are driven up by every north wind across the whole 
width of Lake Superior, has been partially prostrated at several points, and 
worn out into numerous bays, and irregular indentations. All these front 
upon the lake, in a line of aspiring promontories, which, at a distance, pre- 
sent the terrible array of dilapidated battlements and desolate towers." — 
Schoolcraft's Travels, p. 150. 

Yet shook the lake in strange unrest. 
As if by fearful dreams possessed. — Stanza xv. 
There is something strange in a storm on Lake Superior. Charlevoix ob- 
serves, " when a storm is about to rise on Lake Superior, you are advertised 
of it, two or three days previous. At first, you perceive a gentle murmuring 
on the face of the water, which lasts the whole day without increasing in 
any sensible manner ; tho day after, the lake is covered with pretty large 
waves, but without breaking pi.\\ that day, so that you may proceed without 
fear, and even make good way if the wind is favorable ; but on the third day 
when ycu are the least thinking of it, the lake becomes all on fire, the ocean 
in its greatest rage is not more tost, in which case you must take care to be 
near shelter, to save yourself." — Charlevoix, p. 44, vol. ii. 

CANTO VIL 

How dark-haired Fairies revels keep, 6fc. — Stanza xxii. 
No race are more imaginative than the Indians. With respect to their 
Fairies, the authority of Schoolcraft is decisive. " Puk Wudj Ininee, or 
little wild-men of the woods, and Mishen Imokinakog, or turtle-spirits, are 
their two classes of minor spirits, or Fairies, who love romantic scenes." 

What glories blaze 

The Shining Mountains round. 

This is the Indian name for a portion of the Chippewyan mountains, to- 
wards the source of the JMissouri, on account of their appearance. They are 
also supposed to be the abode of Wakondah, or the Great Spirit. 



312 



CANTO VIII. 



The Giant's Arch. — Stanza vi. 
This is a kind of bridge passing over ihe outer edge of a deep gorge, or 
crater, close to the edge of the cliff, at the height of 100 or 150 feet. 

And some with Nelson fought afar, — Stanza xvii. 
The battle of Erie was an honor to both nations. Com. Barclay, the British 
commander, one of Nelson's captains, was of a character as heroic as Perry. 
Obliged to retire below through severe wounds, he notwithstanding refused 
to suffer the flag to be struck, till he was carried up,»and saw, himself, the 
impossibility of holding out longer. 

Sailed the ships and on the morn. — Stanza xxviir. 
The funeral took place in every respect as described. British and Ameri- 
cans were borne and buried together. Com. Barclay gave many attestations 
to Perr3''s nobleness and generosity. 

CANTO IX. 

Is it the voice of Tamenend ? — Stanza ix. 
Tamenend was the wisest and greatest of the Delawares. All white-meu 
*-^ held him in reverence. Mr. Cooper, in his " Last of the Mohicans," has in- 
troduced him in his old age, with great beauty. 

Where red-men, is the handed pride, 6fc.— Stanza xiv. 
At the first landing in Virginia, three nations — Mannahoacks in eight tribes, 
the Monicans in five, and tlie Powhatans in twenty-five— occupied the coun- 
try from the sea-coast to the AUeghanies. 

Horicon, i. e. Lake of the Silver JVaters, was the Indian name for Lake 
George. 
Natchez. — This Tribe were murdered by the French. 
Metacom was the name of King Philip. 

Vernal Hymn.— xxx. 
Dances were customary for the opening of spring, for the harvesting of 
corn, Sec. The women never danced with the men. — Carver's Travels, 

And the earth looks as fresh with her sons and her daughters, ifc. 

All Indian accounts of the creation agree that the world rose from the deep. 

The Wekolis is the name for the whip-poor-will. 

The Miscodeed, according to Schoolcraft, is a small white flower, with a 
tinge of crimson around the edge. It is, at the north, the first flower that 
appears in the spring. 

"The grave in which Tecumseh's remains were deposited by the Indians 
after the return of the American array, is still visible near the borders of 
a willow marsh, on the north line of the battle-ground, with a large fallen 
oak-tree lying beside. The willow and wild rose arc thick around it, but 
the mound itself is cleared of shrubbery, and is said to owe its good condi- 
tion to the occasional visits of his couatrymen." — Thatcher. 



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